You Lyrics

[Intro: Bryson Tiller & Lola Brooke]
Tonight, tonight, tonight, oh
Yeah, uh
Tiller, woah
And Young Lola, controlla
Come closer, mad pretty
Make me lose composure
[?], won't you come over
Last lap in the city, know I'm not sober, true
You know I see you come over
(You know I see you over there, there, there?)
Uh-uh, uh-uh
[Verse 1: Lola Brooke & Bryson Tiller]
I'm a badass Brooklyn brown skin bitch (Brown skin bitch)
And I love a hood nigga with some toxic dick (Ayy, you get me)
Nothing but some socks, he from Bronx in it (Woah)
Have me walking all crooked in my Crocs and shit (Brrr)
Bitch, I go Taraji for my baby boo (For my baby boo)
Ride it like a Kawasaki, that's his favorite tour (Favorite tour)
I'ma swipe his EBT like a Amex (Uh)
Give it to him raw (Uh), no drawers (Uh), no latex (Uh)
Yeah, I got him butt naked for me waitin' at home (Waitin' at home)
Bitch, your p*ssy ain't hittin' if he takin' too long (If he takin' too long)
Told him, "Put my name on it" (Yeah), yeah, I'm makin' him moan
He smellin' Lola Brooke, that's his favorite cologne

[Chorus: Bryson Tiller]
Ha, huh
I'm yours for the summer, I wanna
Drinking 'til we drunk, I'm choosin' you, baby
Things I wanna do to you, baby, you say he crazy so I gotta take a risk on you
Like why would I lie when I'm tryna put this on you (Yeah), baby? Ayy, yeah, ayy, yeah

[Verse 2: Lola Brooke & Bryson Tiller]
Tryna make a choice between his leg or his face
Shit gettin' more intense, I need action daily
What I expect today? It's good neck, hood sex
Stop callin' his phone, bitch, he catchin' up a rest (Uh)
f*ckin' with me is a W, f*ck him at the W
When you comin' quick, seems to trouble you
I want a rough neck nigga that's nasty
My sex drive wild and his ass is immaculate
Put it in my, nah, nigga stabbin' it
A shooter that assassinate, tongue doin' magic tricks (Oh)
Foot on neck (Yeah), he ain't doin' funnel (Funnel)
Got him bussin' nuts 'fore we leave the [?] tunnel (Yeah, ooh-ooh)
[Chorus: Bryson Tiller]
Ha, huh
I'm yours for the summer (Hey), I wanna
Drinking 'til we drunk, I'm choosin' you, baby
Things I wanna do to you, baby, you say he crazy so I gotta take a risk on you (Hey)
Like why would I lie when I'm tryna put this on you (Yeah), baby?
Ayy, yeah, ayy, yeah

[Outro: Bryson Tiller]
Yeah, Tiller
Oh-ooh-woah, baby, yeah
Young Lola, controlla
Come closer, mad pretty
Make me lose composure
[?], won't you come over
Last lap in the city, know I'm not sober, true
You know I see you come over
(You know I see you over there, there, there?)

2bb22e5af0b2e12a4117e26686172a6f