Soundbombin’

Tell the driver to pull my truck up

Me and this

L.A. woman stumblin' out the club fucked up

The Jets my set

I so love us

Call home to my bitch,

I come back after

I come up

If you got my back mama donэt front

If my racks pop a collar,

I'll fly you out in a month

Droppin' tops, bottle's pop

Planes still taxiin',

Tarmac mackin'

Strawberry diesel rattin' on itself

From my carryon bag if you'd like to take a smell

Camouflage cargos, tube socks and gray

Chucks High all the time the

OGs tell me to stay up

Being real is a pay cut, or so it was

Dipped that chronic light, gray purple

L, crystal fuzz

Talkin' out her head, its obvious that

Crystal's buzz

Clipped her out the rotation, no more weed for her

Snap out of it, coach you on how to ball

Spitta-time-ginavitch, where the wild things?

Muscle cars and where the marijuana is

To be half as fine as him is an accomplishment