h.h.e.h.

ay lo

run to the fridge and pop that other bottle of cris' homey

i'm off the weed but i'm back on my juice nigga

pour me up an ounce and a couple of th epurps

as i skate through the city in that black cuatro

you fake willies frontin like you got dough until i prove 'em it's not so

i shine like a brand new penny from that franklin mint

that black masi'

it don't make no cents/sense

but to drive and make dollars

your pockets flat like tires

your money still all slow like new drivers

i pop more than the collar

you niggaz poppin cheap-ass bottles of moet

that bullshit chandon

that little chick on your arm be long gone

when she recognize a real don

i'm in the club in the cut sippin on aged grapes

laughin at them brolic car thieves

in their slim-ass jeans and bath' apes

lookin half gay

halfway out of the closet

you don't believe me

nigga ask sway

what the fuck is that? you niggaz need to be slapped

whoever co-signed bein a sucker wasn't stacked

hheh!

hheh!

uhh

sit back

relax

let's rap for taste

track 10 from the fits

peep my old head face

you see if real niggaz respect it

the squares gon' rep it

i'm guessin

that's why this bullshit keep progressin

but i ain't stressin

nigga class in session

i'm here to teach you a lesson like krs'n

criminal