Fresh Outta London Lyrics by Jake Paul is latest English song with music also given by Joey Iny. Fresh Outta London song lyrics are written by Jake Paul.
Fresh Outta London Song Detail
Singer: Jake Paul
Composer: Joey Iny
Lyrics by: Jake Paul
Fresh Outta London Jake Paul
I don’t need new friends, I don’t like fake friends
Only here to make M’s, call when the check in
I don’t like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an 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
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 M’s all week, I’m a vet
Quick trip for the bag, fell asleep on a jet
On a different time, this an Audemars Piguet
See eight bad bitches like the brand new ‘Vette (Skrrt)
We gon’ get ’em all, why the fuck I 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 M’s, call when the check in
I don’t like partial, need the whole backend
Fresh outta London, she still got an 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
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