​they think she stream ​trevmas (Ft. ​funeral)

[Verse 1: trevmas]
Bad bitch wanna fuck (She do), but I don't do no pity (Yeah)
Cat, it talk to me, I'm over here like Hello Kitty (Like Hello)
I just left my shot up on her back, this not no Ricky (Yeah)
Inside of the whip is peanut butter, not no Jiffy (Yeah)
This not no Skippy (Yeah), rock Balmain, not Dickies (Yeah, yeah)
I don't got a type, but best believe it, ho, I'm picky (Yeah)
All them hoes like, "Pick me" (Yeah, yeah)
Start to feel like Drake, 'cause after one fuck, they get sticky (Yeah, yеah)
Picking up the mic in grade elеven (Yeah)
They said I was goofy, I was Mickey (Oh, oh)
In the back seat of my whip, I'm with your bitch, we hit a quickie (Oh, oh)
I got the crowd jumping, no hippie, bitch, I'm holding .50 (Oh, yeah)
Yeah, we ain't eating out, but I got this bitch screaming, "Tip me up" (Oh, oh)
She like, "Rip me up," my cup like, "Sip me up" (Oh, yeah)
I don't got manners, don't got manners, no insignia (Oh, oh)
And my shooter never miss, he shoot like Curry, this not India (Oh, yeah)
Met at the club and now I'm sinning out with Cynthia (Ooh)
My bitch bad, they think she stream, we box 'em up, Supreme (Ooh)
With my whole regime, yeah, we take out your whole team (Ooh)
It's not Halloween, bloody face, not talking Scream (Ooh)
I just bagged a baddie ho, it boost my self-esteem (Yeah, yeah)
Up this shit, I cause a racket, not the tennis team (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I'm easily convinced, please don't pressure me (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Counting all these fucking racks, I'm like the treasury (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
G-lock in the tote, I only tote deadly accessories (Yeah, yeah)