2:22 Lyrics

Big stepper

Full court, big presser

No stressing

Who there and who better

Trend setter

Said they getting with me

So they lying on my name, like

Who let her?

Yankee kid, I never been a fan of the Mets

Yo imma mess

Best roster since the '86 Mets

Had my new work with my old work at The Met

Take a puff puff pass, now I'm losing my breath

Imma have em ego tripping, now you puffing ya chest

Like that get you respect

Tell me who is you checking?

And baby who is you pressing?

Like I could have em crying for it while I'm leaving you guessing

And now you counting ya blessings

I ain't a player but I'm player made

I know player ways

So you think you playing me

I been steady playing games

And at least I got the finest nigga out there in the friend group

But if he would've asked I might've fucked him and his friend too

Cause they be on they twin shit,

Neither on they king shit

But baby boy I hope ya best friend got some big shit.

Hope you hit me like "my nigga what you chatting for?"

Look you in ya face like "my nigga what you acting for?"

Word to homies

Ask these niggas who they muse is

Ask them who they thinking bout when they be making music

Ask me if the crew lit

Ask me if we do shit

When I say we making Billy's, then that mean the shoe fit

When I say they lying on my name, then it's bullshit

I be thinking everybody move like the money

But you can't expect a hunnid from these niggas putting two cents

True shit

True shit yo

True word, true say