Isabel Marant

(Rocket Boy) yeah Yeah, I'm on they ass (yeah) Hop up on that couch and roll up Latto out the bag (let's go, bag) I don't need a stylist, they can't fuck with Coi Leray (yeah, yeah) Tried to count me out, and now I'm big as Trippie Redd (yeah, Red, Red) Woo, I hope I don't crash (yeah, crash) Scrapin' up the rim up on that sidewalk, ride it fast (let's go) I can't wait to pour up and cook up, up in that lab This that brand new Rick, Denim Tears, LV tags This that brand new Rick, Denim Tears, LV tags (yeah) I don't know nothin', no time for these bitches I don't know (yeah) Just Prada bag, I'ma problem, these Tiffanys Nike step right on these bozos (yeah) Got a undercover vest, cost me bout three racks and they don't know (yeah) YSL drip on the jet, they fly me direct and put me in front row Ooh, yeah Yeah, my diamonds big like a wrestler (like a wrestler, yeah) I put Forgiattos on my Tesla (oh-oh-oh) Wake up, go to sleep in Margiela (yeah, yeah, yeah) Bitch, I got that- on my dresser (uh) Bitch, I'm really rich, got my check-up (and, I'm rich, and I'm-, and I'm-) Yeah, my socks is Kapital (yeah) Walk in Christian Dior with Kenzo lows, red carpet, I'm casual Isabel Marant in Paris (yeah, yeah, yeah) --- Isabel Marant - Coi Leray