I play the Porsche, 918
I mean the Spyder, you do not know what I mean
I got a driver for my drop top limousine
Go ask your bitch, I bet she know ’bout Mr. G
Yeah, he like to talk
She like to talk
So when he drop her off
They have a heart to heart
Guess he got all the answers
And I got all the verses
My Benzo got no ceilings
But the windows came with curtains
So me and G swervin’
Me and G swerve
I keep the double-R, me and Steve Kerr
Popping these Percs like I’m on injury reserve
And when the pockets full of lint, we want that lint to be fur
Amen, amen
No baking soda, my nigga, we play it raw
We put some holes in them niggas, we playin’ golf
Want you to know it’s me nigga, my mask off
Cut out your tongue, put that bitch in a glass jar
Then drop it off to your kid’s classroom
Dirt bags, we belong on a vacuum
A pad room, I fuck in my bathroom
Long hallways, my room is the last room
Long hard days, my schedule don’t have room
You home all day, you stuck on your MacBook
I’m gone all day, I’m chasing that checkbook
I’m stoned all day, I’m stoned all day, I’m on D’ussé
And back in the day we was on section eight
Now we in our own section, motherfucker like “Ayy”
All you niggas know what time it is like Flav
Public Enemy Number One like Flav
Fifteen with a mouth full of golds like Flav
Fifteen with a house full of hoes like Hef
Gave G the day off ’cause the car park itself
Shots take off like a stealth
And they landing in your scalp
Letting human heads replace the Grammies on the shelf
Put a bitch head right below the belt ’til she belch
And she won’t get a dollar; zero, zilch
Cup muddy-muddy, muddy-muddy-muddy
Tunechi pass the blunt, I’m gon’ need time to study
They don’t know who got the gun
But they know who got the money
We don’t wanna know what’s up
We wanna know who got the money
What these niggas wanna do?
What these bitches want from me?
Bitches claiming I’m a dog
But these bitches want puppies
These bitches bring luggage
My bitches bring others
My bitches bring rubbers
Your bitches burn rubbers
Your bitches burn supper
I’m still major and I made you niggas
You getting bodied by a skater nigga
I’m not the type of nigga that be Skypin’ bitches
Shout out to all my bitches one nightin’ niggas
Whoa, make sure you hit ’em with the Slut Walk
Yeah, then text that man to fuck off
And I pour up another one, another one
The cream soda tasting like bubble gum
Whoa, straight swerving on these niggas
From Collins, to Highland, to Bourbon on these niggas
Them other niggas just wasn’t deserving of me, niggas
So I’m swerving on them niggas
No more Family Matters, no more Urkel on them niggas
I’m feeling like a born again virgin on them niggas
I’m running to the bank, quick as Herchel on them niggas
What’s in your wallet?
I done went commercial on them niggas
On purpose on them niggas
All black hoodie, all black gat to match
Yeah, put it to your hat, and Blat!
When we see you, boy, them shots be coming back to back
Long hair, don’t care, nigga; Cactus Jack
No Ceilings