Bryson Tiller - Ease lyrics

[Hook: Bryson Tiller] Homegirl in public, babygirl in private Phone keep jumping, f** it put it on silent She a fashion k**a, she my n***a, she my stylist Murder he wrote in cursive, they revise it Please, boy I said I do this sh** with ease Too trill, riding through Louisville streets Hottest thing from it since Muhammad Ali Gotta keep on coming, who fell off? Not me [Post-Hook: Bryson Tiller] God dammit, holy sh**, God dammit Boy, boy, I said I do this sh** with ease God dammit, holy sh**, God dammit Boy I said I do this sh** with ease, God [Verse 1: Bryson Tiller] Holy sh**, God dammit I tell these n***as I'm the man, it's So obvious right now bro On top, that's where I wound up I'm skating through Miami My flow is so Atlanta I'm smoking on that Amster Tiller hit that rose like Amber Got bad b**hes on deck They all call me Captain Mo-Money My hands full, she will hold it for me No hand outs, get your own money Knock knock, ho don't come in Thumbing through some more money This just my clothes money Don't ask me about your money, I don't Did it on my own, n***a you don't even know Only smoking strong, oh my blunt game on swole Her a** is like woah Do whatever I please, I'm my own boss indeed That's just how hard I go n***as paying for p**y, oh trust me I know Now them hoes give it up for free When you ain't sh** they won't n***as keep sneak dissing Tiller on the low If you really wanna know Your ho my ho too she my [Hook: Bryson Tiller] Homegirl in public, babygirl in private Phone keep jumping, f** it put it on silent She a fashion k**a, she my n***a, she my stylist Murder he wrote in cursive, they revise it Please, boy I said I do this sh** with ease Too trill, riding through Louisville streets Hottest thing from it since Muhammad Ali Gotta keep on coming, who fell off? Not me [Verse 2: WunTayk Timmy] Not me, you n***as must be confused I'm starting to feel like Spike Lee Boy it must be the shoes She check on me like Nike You know I'm tucking it too It might be allergic to haters, I bust it at you These b**hes thinking that I'm sweet and end up salty Because when I feeling like a pimp I brush em off me And if my n***as got a problem they gon call me I k** em Monday through Sunday These n***as all weak Boy this sh** is all me, I Don't know what path I want to take If my cash is only straight I got to pa** up on that date Ain't gotta ask about her face They think that a** up on her fake She take forever to get ready so she fashionably late f**ing with ours I don't recommend Tiller gon roll up in a minute I catch second-hand I swear this sh** gon make em watch boy its bout time This for my city, tell me meet me on the south side And she could be my [Hook: Bryson Tiller] Homegirl in public, babygirl in private Phone keep jumping, f** it put it on silent She a fashion k**a, she my n***a, she my stylist Murder he wrote in cursive, they revise it Please, boy I said I do this sh** with ease Too trill, riding through Louisville streets Hottest thing from it since Muhammad Ali Gotta keep on coming, who fell off? Not me