Оригинален текст
And I'm still talking champagne, good weed, bad bitches and airplanes,
Niggas get extra like spare change,
Leave your bitch round my gang then she fair game,
It's so hot standing near a flame, 20thousand on my wrist 50 on my chain,
Club owners mad we drinking all the rozay,
And niggas hate but I just go off what the hoes say,
He a skinny nigga but he do it big,
Ya it's looking like a movie but it's how I live,
Young boss, taylor gang general,
Drinking out the pink bottle, rozay imperial,
And my bad bitch look like the centerfold,
Cook like a chef, smoke weed like it's for dissinial
Smell the engine burn you hear my tires murk
We be popping corks like fireworks,
[Chorus]ima need more champagne,
Tell the waitress bring a couple more bottles and break em up,
We buy the bar for every nigga that came with us,
We got some broads to drink em all grab a drink and get fucked up,
Champagne,
See them bottles of rozay aint a thing to us
Just bought em in the club cause our paper up,
Bitch you hate to? waitress bruh
Ima need more champagne
V.I.p. full of red bottles,
In the city that I come from I'm the head honcho,
Ounces full of kush, bottles full of more wet,
See me in my car she got so wet,
Used to smoke blunts now she roll planes,
Quit fuckin with her nigga he was so lame,
Said she love the taste but she don't know the name,
Drinking by the case I'm gonna need ya to bring more champagne,
I'm with my goons gettin liquored up make this money
And blow it like I don't give a fuck
Show em to the club they pull them bottles out
If you gettin money you should know just what I'm talking about,
Uh I live the life you write a song about,
Bitches think I'm famous, favors come in large amounts,
Standing on the table, standing on the couch,
Somebody tell the waitress cause we almost out
[Chorus]
