Porches

[Verse 1: Blu]

Uh, know what it is (yeah, yeah)

The tip top of the hip hop or be a rich mob for your clique

Think it's tilapia, you're gobblin' up (yeah)

Bitch coppers wish they shot us with clips

But couldn't stop us at a red light with a stop sign standin' in front of my whip

Got a problem, got a revolver to solve it real quick

Kickin' ass like combat boots, you steel tips

Knock you out like Chris Rock got by Will Smith

Real shit, fuck around in that metal will split

Dead straight from the ghetto ever since

Little kids with the bibs, now we serve beers

Tryna get dibs on some pork ribs

But they just give us the short stick

So we force dick down they throats for that horse shit

We're thе fortunes, bigger portions, big cribs and Porsches

Wе was broke when we smoked on them porches

Poor kids never get a break 'til they get cake

And that don't last long 'til we take our hat off when we pray

[Verse 2: Heems]

Yo, yo, yo, yeah, yeah, yeah, yo, yo, yo

Yo, we went from jumpin' off the porches to passin' torches in some Porsches

You horseshit, your balls got me snorin', you're borin'

Peep my lore kid

Yo, I'm somewhere out in Bora Bora, tourin'

I'm in the ICU with grips on my socks

Duckin' the cops with a grip in my sock

Blade in my pocket at the stop and shop

Western Beef, see the opps and I drop and pop

I'm at the ER, they thought I was an MD

Yo, they think they friendly with me

I'll empty three on any MP3

You wasn't with me in the MPV, then let me be

Veena logo on the invoice heading

High thread count on my bedding

Yo, I'm an urban legend

An Hermès turban legend

Prada loafers at my cousin's wedding

[Verse 3: Quelle Chris]

Yeah

Yeah

I'ma need every single one of y'all bum-ass rappers to shut the fuck up

Get picked up by the bus because you broke

I got Deebo shrimp, motherfucker, I picked the bus up

Kids need naps, they actin' fussy and flustery

Curl 'em up like warm water and pink lusters

Bank cards bust, they double as pill crushers

Have you feelin' gooey inside like fruit Gushers

Niggas love to hate when obviously they love you

Duckin' face when they see you like lips puckered

Why the hate?

When it's hard like Webby tryin' to say Charlamagne

We roll with a bunch of bears like Charmin paper

Every dollar in the bank only makes me greater

If it was only 'bout the love, I'd be a millionaire

I got it covered, head to toe like Sicilian hair

Heems and clean up, and I'm tryna pull a double dare