Songtext zu 'Phone Numbers (Feat. Trae tha truth & Big Sean)' von Wiz Khalifa

[Verso 1: Wiz Khalifa]
I cop me one, cop me one for my old girl
You think she my newest bitch, she my old girl
Khalifa, a younger nigga who handle his
Hoes get in my car, ask what the channel is
Boss shit, look that up nigga, I handle biz
On fire, like a candle is
Niggas be dressing off the manikin
Hmmm, and I get fresh like where them camera's is
Better yet sandwiches, bad bitch Spanish friends
Coulda been the President, rather be the man instead

[Refrão]
Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
Now when I get paid, my checks be lookin' like phone numbers
(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' millions
(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' millions

Time is money so I went and bought a Rolex (bought a Rolex)
Time is money so I went and bought a Rolex (bought a Rolex)
I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' millions
(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million)
I'm talkin' millions, nigga I'm talkin' millions
(You can talk shit bitch, I'm worth a million, whaaaaaat)

[Verso 2: Trae Tha Truth]
I'm in the hood [?] on this something corner surfing
Float, no water, my trunk is waving, I'm polar surfing
Blowing faces, I'm shittin' on them diamond infested
Time is money, peep the wrist bitch, my time is invested
I'm still the king and I'm thugged out
Any block any club I flood it out
I ain't the one for competition I'm a blow it out
I'm going hard I don't ever plan on going out
I'm getting money, probably something you don't know about
I stunt hard, you would swear that I was showin' out
Don't tell me get 'em, I got em and I'm a throw 'em out
And back door on these hoes that I was warning out
While I'm in this machine, convert the top
Tell them that the sky is the limit
With a four of freaks, she got her face in my lap so deep you would think
That she was hiding in it

[Refrão]

[Verso 3: Big Sean]
Shrimp, steak, liquor and pasta
Real shit boi, these niggas imposters
They deserve an Oscar, Kevin Costner
Oh my God sir, what?
I got this and that and everything I want like I got a hostage, yeh
Countin' 7 digits, no wonder why the money calling
Got ya bitch panties Niagra fallin'
Dollars cum like I fuck in the bank
I told them I could, they tell me I can't
They want me to trip when I'm d-cking the paint
I'm poppin' champagne and puffin' on dank
Shining hard, boy, these niggas gotta see me
My dick hard, your bitch is easy
(Boi, boi, boi)

[Refrão]