[Verse]
Another day's dollar, holla if you hear me
Chillin' by one of my baddest bitch's older sisters
You know how them hoes be pretendin'
That they so close and kindred, til that jet pimpin', give them all that four-twenty vision
One spoke up on my stroke, and the other one got defensive
They both figurin' out they both getting dicked down
Kill em with my old schools, bitch, you car sick, huh?
Chevy man, see me in the Corsica
Or a GT Berreta, n***a, low as fuck
If I'm not on tour, pimpin', I ain't doing much
Except rolling up, building scale model low rider trucks
In my Jet Study where I keep my books
Pilot log each entry, each verse, each hook
'Bout the shit I really saw and the chances I really took
Cars I really drove, women that really chose
No Phantom over here, pimpin', cinnamon on my rolls
Breakfast, first-class flight from New Orleans to Houston, Texas
Flight time, forty five minutes, thirty seven seconds
Wheels up to wheels down, last time I checked it for the record
Flow deadly, and alot of n***as respect it on a daily
Creating these speaker blessings
At the car wash, they finishin' my tire dressing
I'm on the conference call discussin' how my merch selling
Loot comin' in from all directions
You one dimensional hustlers would never play the cut with us
I got my numbers up, countin' in the sky
Burning doobies in the coupe, D.W. high