[Chorus]
Run it by my agent, run it by my bitch
Run it by my boyfriend, run it by my clique
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Run it by my driver, run it by my stylist
Run it by my makeup artist, run it by my pilot
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me

[Verse 1]
Now I hate making chat with a bland bitch
I never asked a single question 'bout your brand, bitch
You need a favor then you reach out to my man, bitch
You know your place, you know you're nothing but a fan, bitch
I hit L.A. and all the faggots goin' crazy
I'm racking lines inside a pussy pink Mercedes, baby
Hold up, hold my drink, I'mma let y'all know what the fuck I think
I'mma let y'all know who the fuck I am
Petey Plastic, who the fuck you stan? (Who the fuck you stan?)

[Pre-Chorus]
I'mma let y'all little bitches wake up
You talkin' 'bout me, you can get your face cut
Fake fuck, cryin' like I wouldn't be back
I just tell 'em that I thought the albums wouldn't be wack (Who's that?)
[Chorus]
Run it by my agent, run it by my bitch
Run it by my boyfriend, run it by my clique
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Run it by my driver, run it by my stylist
Run it by my makeup artist, run it by my pilot
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me

[Verse 2]
Who the fuck said you could talk to me? (Who?)
Why all these hoes in my property? (Wha?)
Can't even greet a bitch properly (Nope)
Standing there staring so awkwardly (Hah)
Can I help you? No, really, can I help you?
Get a therapist, bitch I ain't Bellevue
Don't even look at me when I walk by (Nope)
How many times I gotta tell you?
I know it's hard seein' me on my [?]
[?] fans and they never goin' sober
Poppin' whatever I like, whatever I want
Still droppin' the drawers whenever I flaunt
All my shit is expensive, and no ma'am, you can't touch it
I ride around in my daddy's car, I drop the top and said "fuck it"
[Pre-Chorus]
I warned you I would come right back
I can smoke your whole entire catalog like crack
Lips lined up like a chola, tell them hatin' bitches that I said "Hola"

[Chorus]
Run it by my agent, run it by my bitch
Run it by my boyfriend, run it by my clique
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Run it by my driver, run it by my stylist
Run it by my makeup artist, run it by my pilot
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me
Don't talk to me, don't talk to me