More songs by French Montana
More songs by Max B
Description
Producer: French Montana
Lead Vocals: French Montana
Lead Vocals: Max B
Composer: Karim Kharbouch
Composer: Charles Wingate
Lyrics and translation
Original
-Yo, it's fucking the hood! -Oh my God.
Look at that. It's sliding down. Watch your step!
Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
-For a couple of hours. -What do they crave?
-Whippin' that wave. -Man, that is cold.
Left arm, right arm, Glock 9, pipe bomb.
Came in a degenerate and left out as an icon. Typhoon, tycoons, only one in the mic booth.
Bottle of the right brew, get me in a nice mood. Dick good, skin tone, never owned a flip phone.
Bitches fall in love, I ain't never been in the friend zone.
Streets most prominent, Coke Wave dominance. God forgive niggas, I don't save their apologies.
Position solidified, don't question the camaraderie. Think you could body me? Best chance the lottery.
Sentenced to an L, been in jail for robbery.
Shouts to my niggas still upstate, pin ounce P. Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
For a couple of hours.
-Whippin' that wave. -Hey.
Coke Wave tell them fuck boys die slow. Back blocks firework like pyro.
Tell 'em work dry, bring another half with him.
Gotta feel the lizzy, it get slizzy like hashing 'em. Climbing up the mountain, watch the lawyers and accountants.
Told 'em my boy was coming home, niggas started doubting.
Snipe mami at the deli, it get funny for the fetty. Copped the two-door so they don't do me like YNW Melly.
Glocky with a body on it, still I'ma use it.
Wave Gods, we the pioneers of the drill music. Blowing the Chevelle, bearing money like Fidel.
Don Snow, Don Belly, fresh up out the cell, Monte. Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
For a couple of hours.
-Whippin' that wave. -Hey.
This is not a test.
This is your emergency broadcast system announcing
Coke Wave 3. 5
English translation
-Yo, it's fucking the hood! -Oh my God.
Look at that. It's sliding down. Watch your step!
Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
-For a couple of hours. -What do they crave?
-Whippin' that wave. -Man, that is cold.
Left arm, right arm, Glock 9, pipe bomb.
Came in a degenerate and left out as an icon. Typhoon, tycoons, only one in the mic booth.
Bottle of the right brew, get me in a nice mood. Dick good, skin tone, never owned a flip phone.
Bitches fall in love, I ain't never been in the friend zone.
Streets most prominent, Coke Wave dominance. God forgive niggas, I don't save their apologies.
Position solidified, don't question the camaraderie. Think you could body me? Best chance the lottery.
Sentenced to an L, been in jail for robbery.
Shouts to my niggas still upstate, pin ounce P. Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
For a couple of hours.
-Whippin' that wave. -Hey.
Coke Wave tell them fuck boys die slow. Back blocks firework like pyro.
Tell 'em work dry, bring another half with him.
Gotta feel the lizzy, it get slizzy like hashing 'em. Climbing up the mountain, watch the lawyers and accountants.
Told 'em my boy was coming home, niggas started doubting.
Snipe mami at the deli, it get funny for the fetty. Copped the two-door so they don't do me like YNW Melly.
Glocky with a body on it, still I'ma use it.
Wave Gods, we the pioneers of the drill music. Blowing the Chevelle, bearing money like Fidel.
Don Snow, Don Belly, fresh up out the cell, Monte. Daydreams.
Put the water to the flowers.
For a couple of hours.
-Whippin' that wave. -Hey.
This is not a test.
This is your emergency broadcast system announcing
Coke Wave 3. 5