Ride two miles per hour so everybody—
Get a glimpse of the real n***a who inside it
With my cousin G5 we highed up cloudy
Bitches getting stoned just from standing around us
Music turnt up, but the smoke way louder
Must be amateur night, these motherfucking kids
Think they fucking with us, they fucking stupid
They talking shit just to hear themselves, but I ain't worrying about 'em
I got a life time subscription of that Car and Driver
California prescription, pounds of exotic
Riding to that old Hypnotize Mind shit
Stay in the flyest stitches, not even tryin bitches
You lying n***a, smoking that middle class grass, you ain't really high is ya
I would a put you down, if you wasn't such a clown
But I figured I share it with my team, cause I came in here with 'em
Grab a plate, Thanksgiving
Word to Corner Boy P, I'm lane switchin', Chevy heavy
So is my chain n***a, Spitta Andretti on a paper mission
Indy 500 driven, addicted to this winning
This the victory lap in front the club, you wanna get in
I ain't even attending, just maintaining my engine
See I got too many cars
And it be three months before I got a chance to get in 'em
Take 'em out for a ride, make sure they doin' fine
Mo' money, mo problems, these problems I don't mind
Standing outside trying pick which one I'mma drive
Let my bitches decide, appreciating my high
(You never know homie, could meet some hoes, homie)