Top Golf

Who the kushest? Who the orangest?
Who got pounds? Who got flowers like a florist?
Champagne, a hundred girls where my floor is
Taylor Gang the whole world, we explored it
High performance supersport shit
Get the beat, don’t write it down, just record it
Go to sleep drunk, wake and bake in the morning
Since high school I had P’s so I had court dates
Never running out of tree there’s more on the way
Balenciaga and Chrome fill up my closet space
“Khalifa Man been in his bag,” that’s what the people say
Louis duffel fillеd with something that’ll get a regular nigga in troublе
Car filled with muscle
Same gang, tatted on my hand heavy hustle
A little kush, that’s the missing piece to the puzzle
Bring the orange juice in, now we doing something
Probably on the road for the next twelve months
From the next city away they could smell us

Who the kushest? Who the orangest?
Whose passports tatted up like a tourist?
Who did it once but then got plenty more, bitch?