Daze of Thunder

I’m in that '77 Glasshouse, Kelly greenin'

Rims wit da nice lips, Angelina’s

Jolie, roll me another sticky steamer

Got them bitches pressed like I brung them to the cleaners

Fool don't lie, you ain’t never seen him in person

You just heard about them tracks he be murking

‘Bout them hoes I be working

Light one up for the pimp

Got a yellow bone bitch rolling weed, serving grits

You know curly head Amanda, ain’t she from Atlanta

Condo on Peachtree, roommate named Pamela

In love with her body

Girl, don’t sweat them little love handles

That’s where I put my hands at

When I snatch you up to ram you

Ask your BFF about what happened when she passed through

Baffled by the castle, mind unraveled

Say the smoke was amazing and the bed, life magical

Fuck your homegirl good and let that news get back to you

Now it’s like you have to too, curiosity

Sprung that pussycat to the house with me and I killed it

Suckers hate the jet life because they not allowed to live it

Fool I'm dead serial, killer fucking serious

Nigga this is personal, you can't get no whiff of this

I rolled this shit myself and I’m a smoke it ‘til the end of it

I burn it half way down and put a clip behind my ear, you bitch

Either way a square ain’t saying he got high with me today

Frito-Lay chip motorcycle coppers trying see

What exit I take off the interstate so they could follow

But I ain't tripping, I got it like money in my pocket

And a clip next to my license that confirm that I'm a pilot

I’m stumbling across da red carpet, laughing, spilling bottles

You stuck in your hotel suite, waiting on you stylist

You can't get dressed without him, because you got no inner fly-dom

Showed up like “Where the hoes at?”

Fool, they all at my room

Ad-miring that ass

I’m a smoke to that before I tell you to get in the bed and arch your back

Smooth raps served chill, musical Cognac

Audio dope, surround sound, crack, all that

The sun roof top in a diamond

Though not on a Cadillac, because I’m a Chevy driver

I been all over the map, my home at the bottom

Winter hot like summer, big chrome, skinny rubber

Rust bucket, I spent 1500 on that motherfucker

Another 30 racks restoring that motherfucker

40 say “You got a bad bitch, better tuck her,” like Chris

Bay love bumping Mac Dre on the way to get some paper

Haters is mad we get high and get rich, ain’t slowing down for nothing

George Kush the button

Like "What do this do, fuck it, here goes nothing."

Your man's is something, else

Class by himself, high, off radar, stealth

For the love of the jets, until it’s nothing left

You ain’t got no gas, go over there and siphon some of theirs

Game cold, Frigidaire, though it’s fair

No choice for us to play, so you might as well win, mane

They say it ain't everything, but that’s that loser talk

So ask them, mane

[Hook]