Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex, finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex and I finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex, finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex and I finesse
My wrist on wet, my neck baguettes
My phone keep ringin’, don’t call, just send a text
I touched my first M and, I fell in love with that
You know you dead wrong, boy, you better come correct
Pullin’ up wide-body Scat, this ain’t a Charger
If I text that model back, I bet we gon’ ménage
Say that he got beef with me, but I don’t know the cause
I don’t know who he think he is, he get turnt into was
Couple niggas owe me, I’ma get ’em out the way
I’m rich as fuck, I just spent four-fifty on a Rafe
Bad bitches to the front, all broke niggas to the back
Mix Dior with that Saint Laurent, dress like I’m at the Met
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex, finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex and I finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex, finesse
Yeah, I flex, finesse, I flex and I finesse
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