[Intro: Trademark Da Skydiver]
Yeah, Super Villain in the building
Jet Set music, haha, bitch
Whattup, Spitta

[Chorus: Trademark Da Skydiver]
I think I'm Trademark, Da Skydiver
Locked in a cockpit like a jet fighter
I'm rollin super doobies, pass me my lighter
Smokin sour every hour, I can't get no higher
I said im Trademark, Da Skydiver
Locked in a cockpit like a jetfighter
Im rollin super doobies, pass me my lighter
Paper planes every hour, I can't get no higher

[Verse 1: Trademark Da Skydiver]
Let us do our thang, it's Jets over everythang
We got the shit on lock, like cell blocks in Sing-Sing
Fly kicks, heavy bling
I'm married to the game, the money is the wedding ring
Call me Peter Parker, I'm in love with Mary Jane
Super doobies on deck, pass me the flame
N***as jumpin ship they bitchin up and switching lanes
You know who you are, I don't have to say yo name
Co-captain of this jet, you not allowed on the plane
So get it right, homie, we are not the same
I live that Jet life, you just livin' lame
I get the cash and dash, word to my n***a Dame
I'm on bubble like 'caine over an open flame
Jet-set in the building, fuck who else came
The shots fired from a silencer im taking aim
And rappers out like im at the shooting range
I'm like a stack of hundreds, you just some loose change
I think im Clark Kent, or maybe Bruce Wayne
Nah, more like Harvey Dent or Dr. Strange
T-M-S-D the S-V, who gon' stop my reign
[Interlude: Curren$y, Trademard da Skydiver ]
Right here, Trademark da Skydiver insisted I would be saying the hook, but I don't want to
(I'ma karate-kick the shit outta Spitta)
Just enjoy this shit, do what you wanna do
Alright here's the hook, let's go

[Chorus: Curren$y]
I think I'm Cheech, I think I'm Chong
I got my Weed, I got my Bong
Livin in the fog, don't know what goin' on
But I dont give a fuck, long as my money long
I think I'm doughboy on my front post
63' Impala in my driveway, Saints-gold
Sittin low, though im higher up
Dickies cuffed, crispy Chucks, spittin' tough

[Verse: Curren$y]
N***a what, yo' records suck, bitches don't listen to yo stuff
They with the jets, we in the cut, settling for less that ain't for us
Suppress the hate in yo blood, makin ya'll lookin like girls
Poodles can't eat with the pits, bitch, it's just a dog-eat-dog world
Too clean to be fucked with, supreme like a Cutlass
MC Hammer, you can't touch it, better use some gloves or somethin'
Far too potent to be smoked with them hoes 'cause I dont know them
Snickelfrits, them bitches not official Jets misses
Im just sittin cool whippin, twistin' green tree, Christmas
Chew so many sweet rappers up, I'ma need a couple fillings
Sun burnt, my roof peeling, no tornado took my ceiling
Its in the trunk, think mo' Bill Batts, Casino