DD2

Sharma gayi main haye haye

Ghabra gayi haye haye

Sharma gayi main hi-haye hi-haye (CJ)

Ghabra gayi main haye haye

Yo

Yo, it's the Asian in me, I sell fast food like takeaways

And we're trappin' out the shop until they raid the place

More horses in my Bimma than a stable

The only thing I've signed is a UPS label

Gave her one pipe, left your main chick asthmatic

Just like my whips, bro, the blicks came automatic

If you seen my re-up, you'd think I'm reselling Jordan's

If you're talkin' Audi's, then it's gotta be a Vorsprung

I got so many hoes tryna ruin my day

Baby, if you love me, you gon' get on this plane

More stones on my neck than a peb phone

This magazine ain't Vogue, that's extendo

Threw my phone away, it was movin' all strange

Alum Rock, turn your car park to a gun range

I be gettin' new racks like bitches in Turkey

Copped another crib, bitch, I ain't even thirty

Caught him doin' ratty stuff when he had potential

Left him rubbed out like the back of a pencil

Fuck snakes on a plane, I got birds on a boat

Must be my genes, done it on my Jack Jones

Sippin' lean at the store, she ain't been here before

She reverted to Islam, I took her Christian Dior (Let's go)

She said, "Slow down" cah the 'Rari got her sick now

Speed camera flashin' like a chick with her tits out

Bitin' my style and they claim they're the hardest

Bro, you're a Genin, I be comin' like Hokage

Got sales in Germany, sales in Amsterdam

(Hustle in New York, gave him three-hundred packs)

I'm in France, G-Wagon on a clean run

I don't need friends, I need addy's in Sweden (Rappers full of shit like—)

These rappers full of shit like diapers

Yeah, we got this same watch, but my one got the diamonds

Flyer just landed, yeah, she's waitin' at arrivals

You'd think I shoot webs the way I always drive Spyders

Just like a spec on a whip, every box in the canteen in jail gets ticked

Kicked out my school, but I be flyin' first class

Say you smoke top shelf, why your spliff burn black?

If I ain't got what you need, I'll import it

Call me Mr. Certi, the way I transport it (Who would've—)

Who would've thought BujjBoy's goin' on tour?

My old fiends stop me, but I don't sell crack no more

Got the rap game in the bag like some groceries

You send your workers OT, I got my workers overseas

Sharma gayi main haye haye

Ghabra gayi main haye haye

Sharma gayi main hi-haye hi-haye (CJ)

Ghabra gayi— mere, mere