classy

G shit, riding in mob cars, smoking only blunts roll rolled from cuban sigars, mad smoke pouring out the windows at the bar when we roll up, aint a bitch acting hard. we some made men, been doing it since back then. (when?) when them other mutha fuckas was scared to fuckin play them. life games no shame, clip in the pistol pull with impeccable aim, fucking with mine we aint playing no games, deliver the liver with one to your brains. serving them with high class quality bars, liquor and cutty sark, burning the bushes after dark, laughing like im mac at a bitch in a skylark, watching the bumper scraping the gutter and shooting sparks. got me tipsy like these bithces sipping coolers in the park fucking pussies tripping dipping over a mickey's and orange sparks. im in the scraper getting faded puffing chronic and slapping hard. playing dominos and cards like we back in the yard, pull some shady shit and get ya stuck in the back with a sharp. this aint no bull shit, ghost ride the whip, wit your body in the trunk gas pedal a brick. we aint no punk simps, ride with playas and pimps, and in the back couple stacked ready for paper and chips. in it to be balling i aint giving a shit bout you half faced limps, put em off then i dip.