I’m So Raw

Tyga

Look, I'm so raw, turn the oven on Chef Papa John, I get the parmesan She want a yellow nigga, corn on the cob Indian giver, slob on my knob The bitch blow hard, harder than some Halls Here, take 'em all You'll be straight in the morn' I'm two peace gone, I'm never gon' call Fly nigga I don't wear it if it's in the mall Seen it on the blogs These motherfuckers cost Yves Saint Laurent, you can tell by the fonts I do what I want, wake up when it's lunch Walk like I'm drunk, uh, swagga so uh Goyard trunks, go around, I got a bunch Tell TSA, "Bitch, get up out my stuff" I wouldn't recommend you to ever check 'em in I started with the end so when do I begin? I'm so raw, turn the oven on Chef Papa John, I get the parmesan Pocket full of paper, underage in casinos You wanna see ID Oh? But I'm in the suite though Here my room-key, go, room movin' slow-mo Fans want a photo, but it's my turn to roll Hold up, baby, hold those You see I'm chillin', dolo Lens with a logo, pinky ring, Frodo I'm feelin' my self, no ho-h-h-homo Hold that beat, poor that more ro-r-r-roso Rosé, you bozos, couldn't speak what I'm on You would need Rosetta Stone All these niggas all clones, we be originals Young Money Seminoles, tribe full of generals Don't ask me shit unless it's in a interview Nigga unless it's in a interview Ha, don't talk to me, I'm not your friend I'm just a fan of a fan Haha, I love all my fans though mmm

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I’m So Raw

Tyga

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