woke up on a cloud of sauce
i might pull up with a pocket and rocket
i pull out and cock it and pop it
reach in the back of my pocket
four racks and i slapped on the top of her noggin
pull out that mac on a bitch
i might just mack on your bitch
your bitch lick my scrotum
your bitch suck my toe just to know them
they pull up with a new medal like top of the soda
you still got the green on like yoda
i'm hotter than the kettle boot
i be flyer than a cardinal
looking like a damn father do
off-white label on the arm of my gear
and your eyes fear like headlights on a deer
catch your lil' bitch with me
me and ski ridin' ferrari
look at them bitches i tell that bitch sorry
yeah i do it for the fans