Move Over (Louis V)

Ten-grand Christmas drops, baby that’s light work,

Louis on my neck like a generational perk.

Move over motherfucker —

I’m rich-rich, not “dreaming about it” rich.

Platinum card glistening, balances never dip,

Monogram leather hugging me like ownership.

Bags on my arm like I just raided a vault,

Don’t call me boujee — I’m the blueprint by default.

Scarf wrapped flawless in a beige-gold drift,

Stepping through the room like I came on a gift.

Champagne aura, old-money stance,

I don’t hope for luxury — I give it a chance.

Spend ten racks? Baby, that’s errands.

Call it excess — I call it inherent.

These bitches want taste but they stuck in T K Maxx,

While I pick my presents straight from the AmEx.

Move over motherfucker, I’m the luxury prince,

My lifestyle’s so rich it should come with a rinse.

Dripping LV from my neck to my stride,

I don’t flex money, babe — money flexes me on the side.

Move over motherfucker, you’re a budget regret —

I’m custom-order, monogrammed, couture silhouette.

Gold, canvas, diamonds in sync —

I smell like wealth… you smell like “let me think.”

Ten-grand Christmas? Babe that’s foreplay,

Wait ‘til they see my birthday display.

I don’t chase a vibe — I create the vibe,

I’m the reason rich men suddenly feel alive.

Those golf-club daddies break their necks for a glance,

Because I walk in like I own the damn dance.

These hoes do “nice”, I do “international first,”

I don’t sip luxury — I quench the thirst.

Spend ten racks? Baby, that’s errands.

Call it excess — I call it inherent.

These bitches want taste but they stuck in T K Maxx,

While I pick my presents straight from the AmEx.

Move over motherfucker, I’m the luxury prince,

My lifestyle’s so rich it should come with a rinse.

Dripping LV from my neck to my stride,

I don’t flex money, babe — money flexes me on the side.

Move over motherfucker, you’re a budget regret —

I’m custom-order, monogrammed, couture silhouette.

Gold, canvas, diamonds in sync —

I smell like wealth… you smell like “let me think.”

My bag screams status,

My scarf says elite,

My jewellery? Bitch please —

It outshines deceit.

If wealth had a face, it would look like mine,

A perfect blend of savage and refined.

Move over motherfucker, I’m the luxury prince,

My lifestyle’s so rich it should come with a rinse.

Dripping LV from my neck to my stride,

I don’t flex money, babe — money flexes me on the side.

Move over motherfucker, you’re a budget regret —

I’m custom-order, monogrammed, couture silhouette.

Gold, canvas, diamonds in sync —

I smell like wea

Move over motherfucker,

I’m a four-season flex,

Not bargain-bin glamour or two-for-one checks.

LV heartbeat, gold-dipped tone —

I’m rich in my bloodline, rich in my throne.

Move over motherfucker,

You’re simply not in my tier —

I drop more on Christmas

Than you gross in a year.

Louis on my arm, platinum in my hand —

Bow to the king, babe…

I AM the brand.