Lil Baby, Young Thug & Future – Dum, Dumb, and Dumber Lyrics

Dum, Dumb, and Dumber

Lil Baby, Young Thug & Future

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"Dum, Dumb, and Dumber." - Lil Baby, Young Thug & Future

Thursday, 17 September 2026, 07:35 am

Album: WHAM (Extended Version)

Track No: 02

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' **** who trickin' ****, you know?
Supercar-drivin', Gulf Stream-flyin', designer-wearin' golden child, you know?
Wham
Wheezy outta here
Let's go
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 **** (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 (Nighttime)
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)
Yeah, ****, 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
Two Lamb' coupes, four Lamb' trucks
Pullin' up, what the fuck? (What the fuck?)
Neck, wrist, fingers slush
Order hundred G's, that's us
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 **** fuss (No)
Heard these **** 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
I was taught to pay a bitch to leave (Yeah)
I go Birk', Chanel for the fleece (Birk's)
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
She snorted off the ki' (Snotty)
Got her screamin' R.I.P. to Keed (R.I.P. to Keed)
**** 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'
Yeah
Brr, brr, ski
Aye, say gang
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
Wham
Spider
Aye, say gang

Writer(s): Dominique' Jones, Jeffery Williams, Nayvadius Wilburn, Wesley Glass & Juke Wong.

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