Yeah (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Yeah
Yeah
Hop out that shit in the middle of the street, nigga
East side
Uh (la música de Harry Fraud)

Yeah
I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money inside my old loft
It was a rent to own
I fell in love with the spot so I bought
Throw them ninety inch TVs up on the wall
My homie hooked up the surround sound and he hid the chords
Did the surveillance so I could keep an eye on all my cars
I went to Rozay crib, this nigga rich
He got whips in garages organized by colors and shit
I was inspired by this
I went back to the grind for the first time in years
I wrote raps on my flight
Kicked it at my house that night, got crazy high
Thinkin' 'bout how I could expand mine
Put the team on the same page at the same time
Then split up and close in on the game from all sides
Crush them motherfuckers
Dudes on mushrooms think they touch us without repercussions
This work comes with somethin'

I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money in my old loft
I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money in my old loft
I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money in my old loft
I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money in my old loft

Uh, I played the backseat last Saturday
In the Rolls reminiscin' 'bout how I came up gradually
Over time I prayed to God for it but he made me wait
Had to condition my spirit so that it wouldn't break
Now I'm hella straight
Estate behind iron gates
Havin' my cake and eatin' it too
Sayin' grace
Thankful for the food
Chrome datin' is on my '62
Sunroof the fresh interior
My engine tuned
Sunday driver though I slide that bitch on Mondays too
Everyday the same to you
Once you touch enough loot

I only play old music in my old car
Countin' new money in my old loft

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Rory William Quigley, Shante Scott Franklin