Benz Sprinter

[Intro: Rosco P. Coldchain]

Uh

Real P

Keep pushing

I don't hustle, man

Look

[Verse: Rosco P. Coldchain]

Parked up in the truck sitting up looking pretty

[?] about thirty with me

I spend it like I print it

US minted, if I said it then I meant it

So much I had to whip it with a cement mixer

Black Benz Sprinter, Hennessey in the spritzer

Drunk at the kid's bar mitzvah

White line will dirty up your dishes

Straight out of hell's kitchen

Crushed out, well, enough for you to sniff it, it's good stuff

When your tongue's numbing up, you ain't even have to lick it

Enough talk

I ain't gotta lie to kick it

Just buy something

[?] you're wasting your time frontin'

If I'm not the right frame of mind, I'm downing something

I'm tryna clock a tickеt and stick it on your windshield

And show you niggas just how I did it

I'm watching you watching us

Watching them suiting up

They raid thе wrong spot

Trapping right down the block from the police district

Pitching inconspicuous with the Smith & Wesson

I pull out, don't forget to chip in

Money's in the bag 'cause I'm all the way in my duffel

Prepping, preparing myself for the consequences

Reckless, hitting these hoes without protection

Dumping [?]

Nine months, who checking

No second chance at a first impression

At first glace I can tell you the type to make a confession

Nigga, I know your kind 'cause I did hard time

Been around the world twice and the streets since I was nine

Got blood on my hands, all theirs, not mine

All's fair in love and war

So when I sleep, I rest fine, nigga

God's perfect, everything in life is meant

I know he's working, I'm a servant

You a serpent, see you lurking, this a circus

I'm an angel with a halo 'round my neck

Whip that chicken like at Church's

Gotta pay me for these sermons

I will be in the trap house rolling up hemp

Smoking [?] coke look like popcorn shrimp

On an air mattress with a uptown bitch

If you can stack a hundred grand, you considered hood rich

In the slums how I was done, slap a drum on a hand gun

And just start shooting and hope that it land one

Youngin tried to make [?] and pedalled up on a bike

Xannied up, shot the lady up and her damn son

It was me on that fifteen trolley

A pack of Swiss Rolls, had to split it with the homies

Then I started seeing real cake like Little Debbie

And learned how to fold the paper up like origami

Forty-five in the Tommy, Hilfiger drawers on my body

I'm quick to cold cut a bitch off like pastrami

Got a [?] for a c-note, 'cause she will if she don't

And these hoes will do anything for a dollar, so keep going

[Outro: Rosco P. Coldchain]

[?] let it fly (Let it fly)

And I will, and I will

And I will, and I will

Let's go

Sweatsuit got a butterfly