Lola Brooke Ft Bryson Tiller – You Lyrics

You Lyrics by Lola Brooke Ft Bryson Tiller

[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
Tad tipsy, won’t you come over?
Last lap in the city, know I’m not unsober
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, beef and brocs in it (Woah)
Have me walking all crooked in my Crocs and shit (Brrr)
Bitch, I go Taraji for my baby boy (For my baby boy)
Ride it like a Kawasaki, that’s his favorite toy (Favorite toy)
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 pussy 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
Wanna drink until 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 than Election Day
What I expect today is good neck, hood sex
Stop callin’ his phone, bitch, he catchin’ up on rest (Uh)
Fuckin’ with me is a W, fuck him at the W
The way you cummin’ 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 assassin it, tongue doin’ magic tricks (Oh)
Foot on neck (Yeah), hand on frontal (Frontal)
Got him bussin’ nuts ‘fore we leave the Holland Tunnel (Yeah, ooh-ooh)

[Chorus: Bryson Tiller]
Ha, huh, I’m yours for the summer (Hey)
Wanna drink until 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
Tad tipsy, won’t you come over?
Last lap in the city, know I’m unsober
True, you know I see you come over
(You know I see you over there, there, there?)