Handing out styles like crack vials
Hundreds of stacks, twenties in piles
Handfuls dishing them motherfuckers out, pass around
Records hitting like missiles when we droppin' down
Condolences for innocent bystanders who was standing around
Rover chocolate brown, tan leather seats, the sweet feature
Feel like I bit into a Reese's Cup out the freezer
Wearin' looks from upcoming season
The sound of samples one of one, shit they let me keep 'em
Ice cream sneakers match with my diamond pieces
Diamond and dollars are the beepers
Money roll tucked in my clothes I conceal 'em
They 'bout to make an attempt for my soul, I can feel 'em
Like so many legends who been stole 'cause they genius
My antenna's up, bein' on defenses, I'm up
At the same time running the score up for us
That's what up, L

I remember I used to stay many nights outside of my mom's house
Or outside in the neighborhood
And just look at cars going by
And kind of make believe in my mind that
That's my next car coming here
This is my car
Of course I didn't have a job
I didn't have the money to finance a car
But I always kept my mind occupied on the status symbol of a shiny automobile

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Daniel Alan Maman, Shante Scott Franklin