IT’S UP Lyrics by DRAKE
I love all my friends
Thinkin’ about this life I provide for them
This world has some real things dividin’ ’em
My right hand, he’s Muslim, I’ll die for him
My road manager is drunk as hell at 5 p.m.
I get knocked down, they help me rise again
Ref won’t leave the game, I’m sayin’ “Bye” with him
Drake, turn this shit the fuck up
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout my opps)
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout no opps)
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout no opp)
Yeah, take a pic, (Take a pic) Richard Millie, no stop watch (Uh-uh)
Take a pic, with your lips, gobblin’ on my cock (Let’s go, uh-uh, shit)
I don’t care ’bout no motherfuckin’ watch (I don’t care ’bout no watch, nah)
I don’t care ’bout no high end thot (Nah, nah)
Bitch, you just a (Bitch, you just a), bystander
Christian Dior pyjama, Gucci under, got his number
I just picked up somethin’ from Mercedes, it’s a one of one
Black exterior, the one that I want
Red inside like that time of the month
Blood money, that’s how I got this
Blood money, that’s how I got this
We can vacation wherever we want
‘Cause I don’t care where none of my opps is
I told the promoter tonight, put me across from they section
We don’t play patty cake, they just be lettin’ us in, we don’t do the inspection
I can’t sleep at night with Thug at Cobb County Corrections
I think he did enough reflectin’, I think my brother learned his lesson
It’s all just a part of the game, we all gotta roll with protection
And just like the motherfuckin’ judge, the hammers come out for objections
Nigga, what’s up?
A hundred-and-forty-three Rolexes in my collection
I put the horns on the front of the ‘Bach, you know Drizzy gon’ roll like a Texan
She textin’ she love me, the Mexicans love me
I’m out here just makin’ connections
And Junior Boy rollin’ like Cinco de Mayo, he may’ve had a fifth of possession
The way that I’m used to playin’ the politics, swear I could win the election
You niggas is overprotective of hoes, I’m already over the next one
I’m at 48 with [?] and Vino, we drunk, it’s not even a question
These niggas tryna send a message, well, leave that shit down in the reception, ayy
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout my opps)
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout no opps)
I don’t care ’bout my opps (I don’t care ’bout no opp)
Yeah, take a pic, (Take a pic) Richard Millie, no stop watch (Uh-uh)
Take a pic, with your lips, gobblin’ on my cock (Let’s go, uh-uh, shit)
I don’t care ’bout no motherfuckin’ watch (I don’t care ’bout no watch, nah)
I don’t care ’bout no high end thot (Nah, nah)
Bitch, you just a (Bitch, you just a), bystander
Christian Dior pyjama, Gucci under, got his number (Woo)
I just picked up somethin’ from Mercedes, it’s a one of one
Black exterior, the one that I want
Red inside like that time of the month
Blood money, that’s how I got this
Blood money, that’s how I got this
We can vacation wherever we want
‘Cause I don’t care where none of my opps is
You hang around too many niggas, that’s pussy
You gotta be pussy
If it’s on sight, up your gun on me
All that muggin’ and lookin’
Yeah, niggas doin’ all that woofin’, pussy
4L bomb shit
Walk inside the store, that switch in my armpit
I go wherever, I keep a Beretta, and niggas ain’t on shit
My opps together, but I don’t discriminate, I got ’em both hit
Them niggas be lyin’, they niggas be dyin’ and they’ll never post shit
No rap cap come out my mouth
Made a couple songs, think he hot now
Hit his ass up, he think he Pac now
Broad day, like he got shot down
Chopper bullets make his ass hop ’round
Bloodshed, ain’t no way to stop now
Go on live and get your ass pop now
Seem like everybody want an opp now
Leavin’ him flatline
Slaughter Gang knife in the back, I’m on that time
Turn him to a hashtag
Make him a “Long Live”, niggas ain’t my kind
Tried and true, I’ma pop mine
I was seventeen with a Glock 9
I wanna see red, stop sign
I wanna see red, Clifford
She keep tryna whip out my zipper
I move to L.A., I’m a Clipper
He think with his dick, he a tricker
Get your bitch out the car ‘fore we blick her
We put an AirTag on his car, he in Miami by Brickell
Say “Hello” to the four nickel
I got a magazine, you got an issue
Givin’ out smoke, pussy
My trigger finger broke
Don’t try me like no hoe
I always let it blow
I pull up five score, nigga
We caught him by that store
How much you wanna bet they ass won’t stand right there no more?
I’m Slaughter Gang OVO
A half a million a show
But I still walk in with that pole
Idiot
Ayy, I’m feelin’ like 2 Chainz (Tru)
Bitch, I’m 21, bitch, I’m not 22
Knockin’ off the namebrand niggas in your crew
Heard you miss your dogs, now it’s long live who?
Idiot
Yeah
Canadian rapper and singer