Yeah Right (Explicit) - Vince Staples
Written by:Vince Staples/Samuel Long/Harley Streten/Kendrick Duckworth/Laura Jane Lowther
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah
Is your house big is your car nice
Is your girl fine f**k her all night
Is you well paid are your shows packed
If your song played would they know that
How the thug life how the love life
How the workload is your buzz right
Do the trap jump is the club right
Got your head right boy yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah
Pretty women wanna slit the wrist
Pretty women wanna be a rich man's b**ch
Pretty women want a couple kids
Pretty women want a new a** new lips
Pretty women wanna push a benz
Come correct and she won't let you in
Thumbin' through the checks she gets it in
Diamonds on your neck is them pretend
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah right yeah right yeah right
Boy yeah
Got an enemy that changes dependin' what direction
You're facin'
Got an enemy that tells you off blockin' what's efficient
You're placed in
You pretend to get a better idea about the lifestyle
You're chasin'
Keep pretendin' that you real
Until every selfie is erased
Pop 'til it's fakin'
Pop 'til the wrist pop
Pop 'til he shakin'
Pop like four on the floor been in rotation
No allegation
Popular demand I understand my name is only for conversation
New York ni**a be like deadass
L a ni**a be like on the dead homies
I was off the porch like fed ex
211 got bread on me