[Intro]
Got my doggy Kulfi in the booth with me (yeah, yeah)
[Verse 1: Heems]
Hemi, I keep the coke in the crib (in the crib)
Who you jokin' with, kid? I'm pokin' her ribs (sex)
And I'm smokin' the shit (weed)
Hit the studio, and I'm hopin' this hit (banger)
Yes, then I roll to the crib (house)
I stay rollin' the piff (you clean)
Cops patrollin' 'cause I'm rollin' with six (yeah)
I'm rollin' with six, sikhs
And they rollin' with sticks (gun guns)
Yes, and we known for the drip (fashion)
They throwin' a fit, Lone Ranger
I'm alone with your bitch, I give a loan to your miss
I'm out in country, yo, I'm roamin' the sticks (country)
Swing the bat like I'm goin' for six (cricket)
Home invasion, I'm knowin' the licks (robbery)
I'm goin' on trips, I'm in Rome with your trick (travel)
Sonnyjim and Heems are flowin' in six (rap music, rap music, rap music, rap music)
[Verse 2: Sonnyjim]
Sonnyjim, Hema, lets go
The question is who's bankrollin' this shit?
That's number one, number two, who's holdin' some bits?
Flip the bird on the white girl, chauvinist pig (biatch)
My boy don't give a fuck and keep the coke at the crib
We watch verses of Ruck versus the Juicerhead Turtles
Shish from the Turkish, sherbet in the spliff, the shirt’s Kith
You slip like a herniated disc, a burgundy six
I smoked a blunt with the Uber driver
You were Lucifer, I had to crucify ya
Take a big toot, it's too fire
Chat shit, slap you with the Jimmy Choo slider
I know my way around the deli, at the telly
Weighing out the smelly
I caught the Air India, out to Delhi
Catch me on the rooftop pouring out some Remy
[Verse 3: Abhi the Nomad]
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Hemi hit my line and call for backup like I'm Kevin Jonas (who)
Who knows how long I've been dunkin' flows for O's, I'm sellin' donuts
You know who my idols are, but this for all them kids who know us
This like the Avengers, throw the flag up like a biker squad (yeah)
Turn thirty, still thirsty, lap a cycle tour (who)
Made a couple hundred thousand numbers, matched the FICO score
The mic is raw, the iPhone off, I'm '97 Tyson dog
You Microsoft, and my awards like 9/11 Michael Moore (yeah)
The price is up, so I ain't nice no more (nah)
They said I'm flying high as I can soar
But I'm still vibin' on the Eiffel floor (no)
Still got record heights to blow
I'm smokin' on that Waluigi pipe raw
Don't make a fuckin' typo on my final score
These rappers so off-balance like a Brahm at your beach
Save 'em dog shit bars like I'm John Taffer (who)
Haters call me Nav, it's all laughter when they type a song (uhh)
When we meet in person, it's like that one Paul Simon song (shh)
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