[Intro: Fiend]
Uh, SL Jones
Wanna say man, I'm so happy to be on the West coast right now (Believe that) you know
Hangin' out with brother Moo, Cornerboy P
Homie Curren$y, they call me SL Jones
I believe the homie Rich Hill, and we live
Engineer Alex puttin' it down for us, you know what I’m sayin

[Verse 1: Fiend]
West Coast, right off the plane, hello Mary Jane
Let go my favorite strain, from my lungs to my veins
Brown hush puppy smooth, she choose, it’s presidential
Any residential, feel me on them instrumentals
Old man on the fiddle told me, “Jones, live a little”
Ever since then, it's been hot up off the griddle
I love the color red, don't bang
I'm outchea gettin’ money, don'tcha want the same thang?
Jazz, vest, and voodoo, the shit we smoke is stanky like doo-doo
I’ma do what I do, you can do what you do
SL roll spears, but I've never rolled a Zulu
I've been a monster on the screen, Fiend Hulu
Microphone attached to my palm when I bomb
A third-world country domestically, where I'm from
I was a fly muhfucka ‘fore I put my tennis on
So fly, they see me from the sky like the Pentagon
[Verse 2: Curren$y]
Yeah, Yeah, Jets n***a, uh
Crumblin’ sugar green, sweet tooth, bite down
Crush a sucka n***a dreams, ya mean
Ballin’ chinky-eyed, Yao Ming
T-top, Chevy Box, two-door Caprice I just got
From eBay to my driveway, I buy now, why not?
Might as well cry now, curtain closed on ya
Everybody left the show on ya, emptied the rows on ya
Fine, pretty, fresh to death, I might as well throw a rose on ya
They wylin' in my section, poppin bottles, might get some rosé on ya
Hittin switches in that '59, I got low, and then I rose on ya
Early morning, late night flow on ya
Basketball shorts, maybe light robe on ya
Light it up, throw the strobes on ya
Pilot talkin the code on ya, so N.O. on ya
When I swing them corners, them hoes no longer want ya

Jets fool