Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Bank Account’ by 21 Savage. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of 21 Savage or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
I buy a new car for the bitch (for real)
I tear down the mall with the bitch (for real)
You can’t even talk to the bitch (no)
She fucking with bosses and shit (oh God)
I pull up in ‘Rari’s and shit, with choppers and Harley’s and shit (for real)
I be Gucci’d down, you wearing Lacoste and shit (bitch)
Yeah, Moncler, yeah, fur came off of that, yeah (yeah)
Triple homicide, put me in a chair, yeah (in jail)
Triple cross the plug, we do not play fair, yeah (oh God)
Got ’em tennis chains on and they real blingy (blingy)
Draco make you do the chicken head like Chingy (Chingy)
Walk in Neiman Marcus and I spend a light fifty (fifty)
Please proceed with caution, shooters, they be right with me (21)
Bad bitch, cute face and some nice titties
Seventy-five hunnid on a Saint Laurent jacket (yeah)
Bitch, be careful where you dumpin’ your ashes (bitch)
I ain’t no sucker, I ain’t cut for no action (nah)
The skreets raised me, I’m a ho bastard (wild, wild, wild, wild)
I bought a ‘Rari just so I can go faster (skrrt)
Niggas tryna copy me, they playin’ catch up (21)
I might pull up in a Ghost, no Casper (21)
I been smoking gas and I got no asthma
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M’s in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Yeah, dog (huh yeah) nah for real dog (21)
Straight up out the 6, now got a house in the Hills, dog (21)
Wanna see a body, nigga? Get you killed dog (wet)
Wanna tweet about me, nigga? Get you killed dog (wet)
Killed dog, I’m a real dog (21) you a lil’ dog (21)
Be a dog, wanna be a dog, chasing mil’s dog (yeah)
Dunk right in your bitch like O’Neal, dog (wet)
Yes I shoot like Reggie Mill’, dog (21)
Chopper sting you like a eel, dog (fast)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M’s in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ruler clips, send a ruler hit
Pull up on your bitch, she say that I got a ruler dick
Spray your block down, we not really with that ruh-rah shit
Glock cocked now, I don’t really give no f*ck ’bout who I hit
Yeah, your bitch, she get jiggy with me
Keep that Siggy with me
Bitch, I’m Mad Max, you know I got Ziggy with me
Keep a mad mag in case they wanna get busy with me
‘Rari matte black and I got a Bentley with me
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight M’s in my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
In my bank account, yeah (oh God)
I got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight shooters ready to gun you down, yeah (fast)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Ready to gun you down, yeah (oh God)
Seventy-five hunnid on a Saint Laurent jacket (yeah)
Bitch, be careful where you dumpin’ your ashes (bitch)
I ain’t no sucker, I ain’t cut for no action (nah)
The skreets raised me, I’m a ho bastard