Exit (part Sick Luke y Lazza)

Hey
Sick Luke, Sick Luke
Baby
Twenty-five hours in my apartment
We live a movie-like life
Blowing like Mister T in the A-Team (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Sexy
Then I grab the cash and head to the exit
I don't stick it in these ex bitches
How many rappers in my blacklist (yeah)

Everything for mine, for my family, my ohana
Any of these bars worth more than your Cuban
Italian clothes, Californian weed
My flow is Argentine and that's worth more than anything (duko!)
Bags of money I multiplied
I'm the original, don't replicate me
Don't shoot at me, I'm not Piqué
I earned respect, didn't beg for it
Joints the size of a katana
Stashed in the sheath, I'm a samurai
My friend cooks twenty-four hours
More than MasterChef, he wants to be Walter White
If they want to measure up to me, it's not with bought views (they don't compare)
I don't use a passport, they know me by the tattoos on my face (you already knew, baby)
Smoking a Russian cream, bought another Medusa, yeah
Smoking zaza that's fuchsia, my life is a rollercoaster, yeah-yeah

Baby
Twenty-five hours in my apartment
We live a movie-like life
All this gold around my neck, I look like the A-Team (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Sexy
I enter, grab the cash and head to the exit
I won't go back to see my ex bitch
Erasing rappers from my blacklist (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)