BBS

This that gold BBS flow

Plastic Nike Air tags on your original 4's

**** is z'd on ya mans and I'm rollin a O

Leave 'em sleep, I don't need them suckers listening to me

Pack the bong full with everything except the kitchen sink

Underneath which, I keep a set of Andis clippers

I can fix my lining up 'fore we go over by them bitches

A quick little something, can't get the back

I don't know where I left my hand mirror

Type of dilemmas will never hinder my jet living

We just chillin' so don't come around here, fake-toughing

Running off the women, bossed up, all us

Outside the club waiting to tip drivers who pull our cars up

The fuck you thought this was, dawg?

I'm a trill muthafucka, after all

Haters is dressed as safety nets encouraging my fall

Won't catch me there but you can catch me on air

When my new shit premier at whatever media outlet

Decides to play it fair

Fuck playing dead, pimpin', I'ma play the bear

Grizzly, seriously, Fishburne turn, flip styles furiously

This that 70's Soul Green, Al chemistry

Aye mane, been a G since Buddy Lees

Lames be cuffin' they jeans, and they bitches

I be cooking these bird ass hoes, running circles 'round 'em

They rotisserie chickens, love gotta shovel in her hand

I see you diggin', strike gold, build yo own coffin with it, dead ass

Flick ashes on the girls in my past tense

The telly's for the ones I was just fucking

The crib's for the one I was gon' get right back with

It's easy to get tangled in the stars, spangled

Mangled in the night life, living out my bars, dangerous

Yeah