Lyrics:
crispy like I'm bacon
(I'm bacon) her right there she is a 10
I will take her to my place
So she can meet my little friend
Goddamn Bobby how'd you lose
out, I'm the C-A-S-A-N, the O-V-A
And the rest is F-L-Y
You see I go by the code of the doctor of the mix
And these reasons I'll tell you why
You
sick, my face might turn green
How can you ever be the best
In the scene when you're
Still tryna make a better tune
Than Fuckin' Widda Team
You don't
perceive it as nostalgic
But the truth is, my subject matter has been the same
And my production selection is still flame
But they love you on the come up
breakdown.
Gotta show my brother what I've got so he won't break out.
On the same speech on how I haven't eat sleep breath music give it up as career but I'll
(Young Rai)
That's how you pronounce my acronyms
(Young Rai)
36 missed calls 21 texts
I'm not gonna get back to them
They said I grew up spineless
So I
come on, Bobby you ain't shit though
Why your personality be split though?
One minute it's PLP, the next that shit be slit throats
Devil and an angel
next to catch this reckless nigga out of order?
Lookin' for my next way to come up,
Nigga don't run up, you see how fast I throw my fuckin' gun up,
For
back, boy
(you got my back right?)
Sure 'nough
Even though them chicks be hatin' on us
Still I'm gonna keep her by my side
In whatever situation we gon'
around
Bitch I be lookin' like i'm paid when I come around
It's about 9:45
I'm on I-40 High
Eyes on the prize
Eyes kind of low
My time
Niggas know I
(oh no)
Hit the oochie-coochie 'til it's slanted, ooh
I'm gon' beat it up, ooh, baby
I'm gon' make your dreams come, baby
Ayy, you the one who
and I get at them fakers
Motherfuck if you hate it, cremated them haters
So, my studio be a funeral
Yeah, this is our year, oh you didn't know?
Uh,
into the bed
Get into some more freaky shit
Then we could go back to the crib
Take a look at how I live, take a sip
Let me show you how deep it get
the hotel sipping champagne in front of the flame
While sitting up on the roof
Gets it done no matter what
Got the stash up in the cut
Catch us if you can me
a Frisbee
Won't you be my Whitney and I could be your Bobby
Fiending for your body please don't tell nobody
Get high like twelve Whitney's yeah futuristic
No information, say yes or no
One point five million
Alright, you get what you want, money's no object
They're all clean, no serial numbers,
No information, say yes or no
One point five million
Alright, you get what you want, money's no object
They're all clean, no serial numbers,
everything is gonna be fine
Doing what I do for myself, so this is all mine
No matter what you did, rebuke the evil like God forbid
For every man and woman
scandalous
Mama used to get so high
She started panicking
When mama died, I went through depression
On some manic shit
When you don't got no mama and
Dad, it's
[Chorus]
Hey don't ya wanna be high?
Hey listen baby come fly with me, take a ride, get high with me.
I know you wanna be high.
You never
Show him I made somethin' out myself and not just tried
Show him the house I bought the fam, let him tour inside
No matter how far ahead I get, I
profound
No matter how mainstream you was in the end, you still underground
That's the truth, feeling close to the cliff, like Rick Dalton in the booth
to go, no matter how far I'll find
To let you know, that you're not alone
Only thing they ever did wrong (yes, yes)
Was bein born black, in this white
, hands up high
You wanna dance lets dance nigga I'll take you to da prom
I'm armed tre pound in my palm I'm calm
Nigga my mamma made a baby boy
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