Baby E.
Poppin champagne like a champion
Backseat riding in the phantom
Blowin good smoke while we get ghost
I can't even speak that lingo but I get that money
Leave em in the matrix, will smith
Jet life, this a life style, and them bitches bite like
From 10 a key, to 10 a show
From Tennessee to mexico
A few G pens and they full of wax
You ain't gotta seek, I ain't hidin
The only thing that's privite is the jets that we flyin
These sweatpants cost a grand
Time is money, rolex minute hand
Weed blowin like brass band minehan
Viscious swear the ink pen in hand chillin man
Wrote these raps underneath the spinning ceiling fan
Waiting for vish to pull up in the lamb
Fresh biscuits with medicated jam
Stoned off a bong I had it flown from a land
Where the kush is plentiful
Sure as the beaches have sand, and bleachers have fans
And teachers have lesson plans
Understand, I low ride stay high to keep the upper hand
On sucka mothafuckas hopin to see us tossed in the can
N***a please, bitch toss my keys
I roll four doobies up before I leave, I'm in the breeze
Mothafuckin G's at ease