Young Thug makes his return to music with a fresh verse on “Dum, Dumb, and Dumber,” linking up with Lil Baby and Future on Baby’s latest album, WHAM.
While Baby and Future keep it flashy with their verses, Thug uses his moment to touch on his recent legal battles, including his racketeering and conspiracy trial from last year.
The track stirred up some controversy when Thug dropped a line about American women that some fans took as disrespectful. He quickly jumped on social media to clear things up, explaining his words were actually meant as a compliment, saying “Not ugly girls. We got the prettiest girls on Earth.”
I see you’ve shared lyrics below, but I should avoid reproducing copyrighted song lyrics to respect intellectual property rights.
[Intro: Lil Baby] Four stones in the ear, D’s at the bottom GA certified before I was GIA certified Mr. M-In-Cash anytime you see me, you know Only a few rappers play a duck to catch a duck, you know Trickin’ ni**as who trickin’ ni**as, you know Supercar-drivin’, Gulf Stream-flyin’, designer-wearin’ golden child, you know? Wham (Wheezy outta here) Let’s go [Verse 1: Lil Baby] Hoppin’ off a plane to a Matchbox Hundred times platinum, fuck a plaque Bulletproof the tires, run flat (I’m goin’) Cutthroat, I give her one chance (Go ‘head) Slut her out and gave her one band (No problem) Twenty-five cars, one man (I pop ’em) Driveway like a mini dealership (Come park it) He went sour, cut the business with him (You bold) Crack smoker, I was livin’ with ’em (Auntie ‘nem) Weird hoes, I ain’t dealin’ with ’em (Can’t see me) Overseas, they love a real ni**a (European) She don’t like it, but she deal with it (She stingy) ‘Raris back-to-back, that’s tough (Two million) Hear us ’round the corner, that’s us (Skrrt) Puttin’ on stuff, best dressed (Night time) Flip phone, black Nike Tech (My kind) We done done it all, what’s next (Too picky) Boss Man, name on the checks (Big business) First one’s come through trim (Literally) Dipset, Jim Jones baller (Big bucker) Life of a fuckin’ hustlerholic (I’m hustlin’) She know not to test me, I’ma call her (Hush) Bro in prison, livin’ through a pack (And) Farewell, I don’t see a scratch (Look close) She ain’t mine if she don’t got me tatted (No way) OCD, need everything intact (Clean up) Bitches tryna play me like I’m wack (Bitch, who?) Real P, I bet’ not go for that Ridin’ through the trey in all black Pullin’ up on Pluto in the 6 (Bird gang) Hood full of dope-slanging tricksters (My neighbors) I come from that 4, I’m a real one (I came up) See upcoming rap shows Get tickets for your favorite artists [Interlude: Young Thug] Yeah, ni**a, King Spider back I don’t even believe I was locked up, for real, for real I was havin’ my way the whole time, fool, you know what I’m sayin’ (Yeah) [Verse 2: Young Thug] Two Lamb’ coupes, four Lamb’ trucks Pullin’ up, what the fuck (What the fuck) Neck, wrist, fingers slush (Eee) Order hundred G’s, that’s us (Hee) New Rolls Cullinan truck (Skrrt) Dog on the side like a bus (Yeah) Shawty mad, ain’t goin’ back and forth (Uh) Never heard a rich nigga fuss (No) Heard these ni**as going out sad ‘Rari truck came with a bag Only fuckin’ overseas shit These U.S. bitches kinda bad College bitch, I made her leave a frat Fucked my brother, gave the bitch a pass Trappin’ in the studio, I’m glad Break a bale, the junkie get the trash (Hee) I was taught to pay a bitch to leave (Yeah) I go Birk, Chanel for the fleece (Birks) Four ’em at a time like a sheikh (Four) I been on a boat, screamin’, “Ski” (Ski) Saint Laurent, they bring it to the beach (Beach) She was Portuguese and Middle East (Woo) She snorted off the ki’ (Snotty) Got her screamin’ R.I.P. to Keed (R.I.P. to Keed) Niggas can’t stand us (Uh-huh) Doggy, put your mans up (Okay) Walked her down in Lanvins (Yeah) Pocket full of grandparents (Okay) Old school, the Trans Am one (Skrrt) Cullinan, the ambulance one (Skrrt) You good, your mans can’t come (Yeah) I don’t give a fuck ’bout nothin’ [Interlude: Future] Yeah Brr, brr, ski Ayy, say gang [Verse 3: Future] Pour it on thick like syrup Elevator pad at the crib Shopping bags all on the floor Never seen me twice with a ho Backyard vibes by the ocean Driveway look like a car show Three hundred-fifty million, I’m the G.O.A.T. Custom leather Pucci on the door Fifty birds of dog on my wrist Cocaine jumpin’ off my bitch Thirty-two shots with the glitch Talkin’ Vicks, then we talkin’ Chris Micro mini with a beam Puttin’ the side hoes in Celine Geekin’ off the millions like a bean Push a button and make your mama grieve Eat it up, she workin’ for a boss Out the country, livin’ like a boss Princess-cut and showin’ all the flaws Graduated, cookin’ up the raw Pushin’ skateboard, Tony Hawk Crankin’ up the car when I talk Alligator, Hermès stuff Dropped eight dollars on a truck Codeine bottles, they for us Put them legal sticks on the bus Off tour, straight to the pit Three bad bitches gettin’ hit Solitaires made they eyes squint Smell the dirty money through the vents House full of dead presidents [Outro: Lil Baby, Young Thug & Future] Wham Spider Ayy, say gang
