Lyrics:
I fuckin' love ya', Joey! Mm, uh
You rock Timex, I rock Rolex
Watch cost ten bands, I spent four less
I come too fast, like some slow sex
She got
leather jacket is Italian, That's no cap I'm really into fashion
Brand new car I'm really into fast shit, Told my bro keep that muhfucka' rolling
Told my
me boy don't look back
So I go fast, too fast
Better text back, tell me where you at
I don't wanna be alone
But you know we gotta be alone
Wait
Now, she's fast, she's bad and she's Italian, she makes 100 miles per hour, oh yeah
As we cross the city lights, she takes me higher, she's
Baby why you act so heartless
Drivin round in this fucking topless
Girl I'd like to see you fucking topless
Baby why you acting so heartless
Baby
Take you to the resort presidential suite
Eat Italian, at night we walkin' on the beach
Blow some bands, talk about whatever on the balcony
2 AM, we
Italian, strength of a battalion
Trapped inside my mind with my thoughts, & they're unravelling
Tryna shine my light through the dark, it's only blackening
furnished, eat Italian
Shop in Paris, drive a German
Taught my bitches how to whip it
Now they whippin', fast learners
Chicken heads, whippin' chickens
they math
Bitches ain't half cut up crack up in the stash
50 Cent Italian, icy flow
This is that Run-and-Get-a-Dollar-for-The-Ice-Cream-Cone
Cause they
Ducatis
My whip just showin' they privates
Yeah, they topless
Touch my body, get to know me, mami
Take your time, slow motion on it
High Definition H2O
Sweet lady on the telephone
She likes fast cars made in Rome
Two-week vacation in the hot, hot sun
She's drop dead gorgeous, man, she loves
exciting, my Benz reeled your wife in
I ruin your life when I produce a license
Let's go
Coming through the do', hella fast, never slow
Got the cash,
powerful with quick reflexes
With the SP Mex's, South Park on hollow
Happy P., got the beats on steroids like (??)
If I'm Italian, I'm a Capo, yeah, fully
catch me cause I'm too fast
I'm still standing, I'm on the run
You can't catch me cause I'm too fast
More, more, more
I'm going fast, fast, faster than
and soft yellow
You say hello
Put down that guitar and handed me a rose
At the end of the Italian summer
It rains fast and it rains hard
The wind
the Italian, second fastest just behind Sam Ellis, but just over a second quicker than Skochi, and beating Aeon team-mate Marco Laine.
The surprise victim
(Skrt skrt skrt skrrt!)
Life too fast, might crash
I just felt a blast from the past
Tried to keep her glad, my bad
I ain't even talking bout'
a portrait
And then I got pork, she want the D like I'm Pauly
She speaking Italian, that bitch think that I'm balling
But she wouldn't know 'cause I'll be
Play the sad fiddling, think she a italing
Little Italian, like write her name in italics
Wipe my frame down and my quarters
Cross over dangerous borders
rolls
Say I'm savvy with tobacco cologne
It's Italian, the pants and the coat
I know
You ain't never had no one better
I ain't hit you up but the pressure
Shoes Italian, Birkin bags, go to the mall and pop some tags
First class flight pussy so tight
Head so good, call her Ms. Right.
Fucking all night
I like fast cars, I like fast cars I like fast cars, I like fast cars
I like fast cars, I like fast cars I like fast cars, I like fast cars
I like
I don't speak Portuguese, Chinese, Vietnamese, Arabian, Bulgarian, Italian, French, or German
But I know what you mean
Yeah I know what you mean
Chevys, and talking slow
Afros and loud ass Italian clothes
People barbecuein' in the front yard
Money from the first of the month card!
If anybody out
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