Isabel Marant Lyrics
Yeah
Yeah, I’m on they ass (Yeah)
Hop up on that couch and roll up latto out the bag (Bag)
I don’t need a stylist, they can’t fuck with Coi Leray (Yeah)
Try to count me out and now I’m big as Trippie Redd
Yeah (Redd, Redd)
I hope I don’t crash (Crash)
Scrapin’ up the rim up on the sidewalk, riding fast
I can’t wait to pour up and cook up up in that lab
This that brand new Rick, Denim Tears, LV tags
This that brand new Rick, Denim Tears, LV tags (Yeah)
I don’t know nothing
No time for these bitches I don’t know (Yeah)
This Prada bag come with problems
These Tiffany Nikes step right on these bozos
Yeah, got a Undercover vest, cost me like 3 racks and they don’t know
Yeah, YSL drip on the jet
They flew me direct and put me in front row
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, my diamonds big like a wrestler
I put Forgiatos on my Tesla
Wake up, go to sleep in Margiela
Bitch, I got that, on my dresser
Yeah
Bitch, I’m really rich got my check up
Yeah
Yeah, my socks is Kapital, yeah
Walk in Christian Dior with Kenzo loafers
Red carpet I’m casual
Isabel Morant in Paris, yeah, yeah, yeah