[Intro: Fiend]
Uh
SL Jones
Wanna say I'm so happy to be on the West coast right now, believe that
You know
They call me SL Jones

[Verse 1: Fiend]
West Coast, right off the plane
Hello MaryJane
Let go my favorite strain
From my lungs to my veins
Brown hush puppy smooth she choose is 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 out here gettin money don'tcha want the same thang?
Jazz-fest and voodoo, the shit we smoke is stanky like doo-doo
Ima do what I do, you can do what you do
SL roll spears but I've never rolled in Zulu
I've been a monster on the screen, via Hulu
Microphone attached to my palm when Im on
A third-world country domestically where I'm from
I was a fly mofucka, before I put my tennices 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, 2-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, empty 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 Rose 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, somewhere known on ya
When I swing them corners, them hoes no longer wantcha
Jets.. Fool