Fresh Outta London – Jake Paul
Genre Rap

LYRIC
Fresh Outta London

Intro

[J-J-Joey]

Chorus

I don't need new friends, I don't like fake friends
Only here to make M's, call when the check in
I don't like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas
If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover on Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah

After chorus

The wrist is flooded
No competition, can't listen, ain't talkin' 'bout shit
I'm lit, they know it
They wanna hate on the music, but I'm makin' hits
These hundreds, I throw 'em
I need like eighty a show, that's some minimum shit
I leave the house and I'm wearin' some shit you can't get
And I swear this shit cost like a brick

Verse

I've been runnin' up M's all week, I'm a vet
Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on a jet
On a different time, this an Audemars Piguet
See eight bad bitches like the brand new 'Vette [Skrrt
We gon' get 'em all, why the fuck would I stress?
Think I need rehab, I'm addicted to a check
And she gon' say it's love, but she know I want the sex
Bitch, don't you dare leave a hickey on my neck
'Cause the Cullinan massage my back, I'm stressed [I'm stressed
Stars in the roof get the bitch undressed
With an ass like that, I forget my ex [Haha
Racks like this meant that God, I'm blessed
I been on top, I should beat my chest
Tell you that she loyal, we gon' put her to the test
Wanna lose your bitch? Well, then be my guest
'Cause I been real cold in this Moncler vest

Chorus

I don't need new friends, I don't like fake friends
Only here to make M's, call when the check in
I don't like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an accent
The crib like a palace, I took her to 'Basas
If he want a feature, then we gotta tax him
I got me a bad bitch, the cover on Maxim
The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah

After chorus

The wrist is flooded
No competition, can't listen, ain't talkin' 'bout shit
I'm lit, they know it
They wanna hate on the music, but I'm makin' hits
These hundreds, I throw 'em
I need like eighty a show, that's some minimum shit
I leave the house and I'm wearin' some shit you can't get
And I swear this shit cost like a brick

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