CyHi & Pusha T – Mr. Put That Shit On ( Lyrics ) Letra CyHi CyHi & Pusha T – Mr. Put That Shit On ( Lyrics )
Intro: CyHi
You bums ain’t fresh like me, boy
You niggas need a stylist
Chorus: Pusha T & CyHi
Gucci, Vlone, I put that shit on, yeah
Chrome Hearts, Bottega, I put it on, yeah
Tennis chains, VVS, this neck froze, yeah
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
Off-White, 350s, I put it on, yeah
Louis V’s and Bode, I put it on, yeah
Richard Mille Bonbon, Rick Owens, yeah
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
Verse 1: CyHi
Yeah, huh, Salvatore Ferragamo
The restoration hardware inside the George Condo
It cost a G for this plaided Burberry poncho
Amiri, Yves Saint Laurent coat
Side note, must be on heroin thinkin’ thеy don’t fear the God flow
Virgil Abloh, I’m rockin’ no Aeropostalе
Nigo, Kenzo model, Phoebe, I don’t follow
I wear Riccardo, got Tisci inside my cargo
Fendi button down, they thought I was Pablo in Narcos
I call my girl like, “I brought some Dior home” (Hey, babe)
And she thought I really bought her some Dior Homme
Juicy Couture, we got Gucci velour on
Somethin’ vintage from Mauricio, Gucci divorce homes
Cartier earth tones, same color her birth stone
Bergdoff furs and they as long as a church song
Plus she draggin’ the Louis duffle, big old goofy buckle
She chuckle when people say that we just the cutest couple
And I could tell by your purse game if your nigga truly loved you
So many bags, only if you knew the struggle
Still got the ones that she had when she used to fuck you
And she said (Yeah, nigga, when I used to fuck you)
Well, she want that Birkin, that’s gon’ cost a few thousand at least
I took homegirl on a shoppin’ spree, she end up stylin’ me
New Bally sneaks, you couldn’t walk a mile in these
Rockin’ arenas before I knew what Balenciaga mean
Bitch, I was clean when
Chorus: Pusha T & CyHi
I put that shit on, yeah (Yeah)
Chrome Hearts, Bottega, I put it on, yeah (Uh-huh)
Tennis chains, VVS, this neck froze, yeah (Wow)
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
Off-White, 350s, I put it on, yeah
Louis V’s and Bode, I put it on, yeah
Richard Mille Bonbon, Rick Owens, yeah
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
I put that shit on
Verse 2: CyHi
Yeah, uh, Black Berluti tux’, she got a Givenchy gown
Can’t fuck with these squares, they just a bunch of clowns
I think it’s rude these Stussys rather I stay underground
So tell Giorgio that we need our money now
Only wear Thom Browne when I’m in the country town
Nieman’s, we shut it down, you seen what happen to Barney’s
Proud of my women, they know they gotta Goyard me
Went and got a BBL, now she all in Bvlgari
I Bathing Ape before I fell in the party
Loewe and Marni, brand new Arnault Bernard piece
The Ermenegildo Zegna
Shorty, you got Alexander, but he never Vera Wang-ed you (Nah, never Vera Wang’d you)
So the next time the Met Ball is where the Mets ball
Or the Nets all, I’ll address y’all in a dress-off in the best cloth
Low cholesterol, she even look good with her dress off
Yes, God, I’m rockin’ Tom Ford with the dress socks
Huh, private jets when Mr. West call
From the mess hall, I’m havin’ TED talk with my legs crossed
I don’t wear Crocs, red bottoms for my best broad
The only time you catch me in some Nikes if they deadstock
Otherwise, I don’t
Chorus: Pusha T & CyHi
Put that shit on, yeah
Chrome Hearts, Bottega, I put it on, yeah
Tennis chains, VVS, this neck froze, yeah (Wow)
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
Off-White, 350s, I put it on, yeah
Louis V’s and Bode, I put it on, yeah
Richard Mille Bonbon, Rick Owens, yeah
I be stylin’ on niggas, I put it on, yeah
Interlude
You say, “Drippin”” and “Drip,” but we don’t say that shit no more in Atlanta, man, we say, “Shorty got that shit on”
Put that shit on
Yeah, shorty go Gucci to the floor
Yeah, shorty go Louis
Yeah, shorty go— yeah, yeah, you puttin’ that shit on
Verse 3: CyHi
Yeah, the Maison Margiela of the Moncler-er
I’ll check her, ‘Tega Veneta just to offset her
God bless her, Farfetch-er, extra small sweater
I’m a Comme des Garçons wearer, gotta to keep my heart tethered
My pallbearers all steppers, ex-cartelers
Leave niggas laid across stretchers for a small gesture
Whose squad fresher? Old heads say I’m a sharp dresser
I’m so for real, I can’t even sing in falsetto
The Dolce & Gabbana, Marcelo Burloner
Just left Sierra Leone for my future baby mama
Somebody go tell Uncle Ben that I ain’t Jemima
I’m an Yves Saint Laurent-er, Balmain persona
Lanvin made the jeans, shorty, these ain’t McQueen
You was in the streets, what? But this ain’t Supreme
‘Cause the way they paint the scene, shorty, this ain’t Moschin’
Haters hate to see me clean in the suede Celine
Outro
Haters hate to see me clean in this suede Celine
Haters hate to see me clean in this suede Celine
Haters hate to see me clean
I put it on
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