Playboi Carti - Telephone Calls lyrics

[Hook: A$AP Rocky] Brr, brr, brr, brr Ring, ring, ring, post man Who this? [Verse 1: A$AP Rocky] Telephone call from young Carti, he said it’s lit Call the young Lord, A$AP Bari, he legit Money clean, young boy, Ian Connor off thes sh** (Young Lord) f**in' with them boys out of Harlem or the six This is Gosha, man I pay for p**y? No sir Ridin' coaster, roller coaster, chauffer [Verse 2: Playboi Carti] Money bags, I got money bags I'ma bag your b**h, I'ma buy your b**h (I got money bags, turn up, turn up) I'ma cash this sh**, I'ma cash this sh** (I got money bags, turn up, turn up) Cash Carti, b**h, Cash Carti, b**h (Carti, Carti) You can have this sh**, you can have this sh** (What you want, yo?) [Verse 3: A$AP Rocky] Godfather rap, nappy plaques to the back James Brown swag, poppa's got a brand new bag And I don’t know how to act On or off the record, might go axe Harlem back up on the map True New York will knock the Apple out you Jacks Pop your Snapple cap, pop facts Gucci and Dior biddin' wars Who order a piece before they hit the floors Not even sh** you see overseas in stores Who else with me? I know you seen the force I'm in Gibral', I been the Lord Holy tabernacle, missiles snap your favorite rapper Greedy for the fat guy's platter k**in' n***as even though black lives matter Weak stomach, flow make 'em throw up Steppin' stones, I'm your stepfather Tell Tyler, better step his flow up Mix the pour up with the Pepsi cola Nextel or the Motorola Young n***a prolly never grow up Post man with the telephone, uh [Hook: A$AP Rocky] Brr, brr, brr, brr Ring, ring, ring, post man Who this? [Verse 4: Tyler the Creator] f** with Taco, f** with Jasper f** with Lionel, man that sh** is gettin' sketchy Shirt is striped, my shorts are short My Vans are Vans 'cause Tyler does not f** with Guiseppe f** the Gucci, f** the Raf And f** the swag and all that other sh** they wearin' f** the Rolls and f** the 'Rari f** the Lambo, Tyler only ride McLaren n***as think they really on because they trappin' Made about like 30 thousand f** the party, threw the carnival Attendance this year was like 30 thousand Shoppin', ballin', opal diamonds shinin' Make sure my sapphire's glistenin' Make the sh**, I wear the sh** They cop the sh**, it's Golf, you n***as trippin' I'm a businessman, you ain't never been the man Make a tax bracket chain like have you seen my home? Crib got a tennis court Get my Venus and Serena on Golf in this b**h, better ring the doctor Ambulance come when I hit the scene That boy flyer than a bag of bees I got my flowers, life's a j**eler Diamond, fingers size of a tumor He's a genius, have you heard the rumors? He's a winner, no not a loser f** pa**in' blunts, pa** my n***as opportunities Goddamn, I'm hot, man, I'm not scared to freeze January, Hawaiian shirts Boy this weather ain't got a thing on me Where’s the mirror? I'm that n***a Kutang got much sh** on me 'Cause I'm a master, I hit my own back To be like, "Y'all boys, my n***a" f** that, it's Golf, b**h [Outro: Yung Gleesh + A$AP Rocky] Doin' it for Yams, ayy, ayy I used to do it for the grams, ayy, ayy That's been way before Instagram, ayy, ayy I used to serve it for your mans Postman! Who's this? Walk, Gleesh, walk Walk, walk Gleesh, walk Walk, walk, walk Gleesh, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk, walk, walk, walk, walk Walk