Fresh Outta London - Jake Paul

I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends

Only here to make Ms, call when the check in

I don’t like partial, need a whole backend

Fresh outta London, she still got a 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 of Maxim

The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah

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

I’ve been runnin' up Ms all week, I’m a vet

Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on the jet

On a different time, this a Audemars Piguet

See eight bad bitches like the brand new 'Vette

Are 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

I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends

Only here to make Ms, call when the check in

I don’t like partial, need a whole backend

Fresh outta London, she still got a 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 of Maxim

The comments is shook up, they throwin' a tantrum, yeah (Yeah)

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 hunnids, 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