Telephone Calls – A$AP MOB Lyrics Video Song

telephone-calls-asap-mob-lyrics

Telephone Calls – A$AP MOB ft Yung Gleesh, Playboi Carti, Tyler, The Creator & A$AP Rocky Video Song Listen and read lyrics. 

Song : Telephone Calls
Singer : A$AP MOB
Featuring : Yung Gleesh, Playboi Carti, Tyler, The Creator & A$AP Rocky
Album : Cozy Tapes Vol. 1: Friends
Produced : Plu2o Nash
Official Site : BBCSongs.Com
Release Date : Oct 28, 2016
Country : USA
Language : English

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Telephone Calls Lyrics

Brr brr brr brr
Ring ring ring post man
Who this

Telephone call from young Carti said it’s lit
Call the young Lord A$AP Bari he legit
Money clean young boy
Ian Connor off the shit (Young Lord)
Fuckin’ with them boys out of Harlem or the six
This is Gosha man I pay for pussy No sir
Ridin’ coaster roller coaster chauffer

I got money bags
I’ma bag your bitch I’ma buy your bitch
(I got money bags turn up turn up)
I’ma cash this shit I’ma cash this shit
(I got money bags turn up turn up)
Cash Carti bitch Cash Carti bitch
(Carti Carti)
You can have this shit you can have this shit
(What you want yo)

Godfather rap nappy plaits to the back
James Brown swag Papa’s got a brand-new bag
And I don’t know how to act
On or off the record might go axe
Harlem back up on the map
True New York will knock the Apple out you Jacks
Pop your Snapple cap pop facts
Gucci and Dior biddin’ wars
Who order a piece before they hit the floors
Not even shit you see overseas in stores
Who else with me I know you seen the force
I’m in Gibral’ I been the Lord
Holy tabernacle missiles snap your favorite rapper
Greedy for the fat guy’s platter
Killin’ niggas even though black lives matter
Weak stomach flow make ’em throw up
Steppin’ stones I’m your stepfather
Tell Tyler better step his flow up
Mix the pour up with the Pepsi Cola
Nextel or the Motorola
Young nigga prolly never grow up
Post man with the telephone uh

Brr brr brr brr
Ring ring ring post man
Who this

Fuck with Taco fuck with Jasper
Fuck with Lionel man that shit is gon’ get sketchy
Shirt is striped my shorts are short
My Vans are Vans ’cause Tyler does not fuck with Giuseppe
Fuck the Gucci fuck the Raf
And fuck the swag and all that other shit they wearin’
Fuck the Rolls and fuck the ‘Rari
Fuck the Lambo Tyler only ride McLaren
Niggas think they really on because they trappin’
Made about like 30 thousand
Fuck the party threw the carnival
Attendance this year was like 30 thousand
Shoppin’ ballin’ opal fire diamonds shinin’
Make sure my sapphire’s glistenin’
Make the shit I wear the shit
They cop the shit it’s Golf you bitch you niggas trippin’
I’m a businessman you ain’t never been the man
Make a tax bracket chain like have you seen my home
Crib got a tennis court
Get my Venus and Serena on
Golf in this bitch better ring the doctor
Ambulance come when I hit the scene
That boy flier than a bag of bees
I got my flowers life’s a jeweler
Diamond fingers size of a tumor
He’s a genius have you heard the rumors
He’s a winner no not a loser
Fuck passin’ blunts pass my niggas opportunities
Goddamn I’m hot man I’m not scared to freeze
January Hawaiian shirts
Boy this weather ain’t got a thing on me
Where’s the mirror I’m that nigga
Kutang got much shit on me
‘Cause I’m a master I hit my own back
To be like “Y’all boys my nigga”
Fuck that it’s Golf bitch

Doin’ it for Yams ayy ayy
I used to do it for the grams ayy ayy
That’s been way before Instagram ayy ayy
I used to serve it for your mans
Postman! Who’s this
Walk Gleesh walk
Walk walk Gleesh walk
Walk walk walk Gleesh walk

Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk walk walk walk walk
Walk