Letras
(Prada did it)
(Ryan, what took you so long?)
The car doesn't start, we're gettin' light on our feet
Yeah, the Type R's stock, got a downpipe and springs
No shot he doesn't talk the clowns always sing
I would serve any custy, I got down syndrome fiends
Before the YouTube shit, was stealing Hellcats out the dealer lot
Real striker music, took his whip straight out his parking spot
Huh, bought the ARP, I burnt my hand all on the chop
The SRT ain't ever get no break, the burnout made the coolant pop
Better listen up before you hop in the V's
You can't leave the house without a mask, glove 'n keys
You can't take a car unless you're fast on your feet
You can't lose the stars unless you black out the Jeep
Today, I want a Beamer, fuck it, I'ma take yo' shit
Niggas be fake gangster, where I'm from, you argue over blicks
I had to throw the single on my car, the twin was saying shit
You pressed about a follow back instead of buying back yo' whip
Beams sat on new rims, the next day, some milk crates
Benz wrap was frozen, it's the same color milkshake
My drip is Wockhardt, your man's shit is stilpane
Askin' where is MBox, I stay where the pills made
But that's an easy way to die, you better test your luck
The Trackhawk engine got way too much torque, it made her pussy jump
I ain't fucked her yet, he better get her, she sending Florida dumps
I'm hot inside the tech 'cause on the drill, I'm never freezing up
Chrysler 300, but the whole car's a swap
Shell came from Copart, the rest from the block
Eight hundred horsepower, straight off the lot
But it ain't from the dealership, it came from your pops
Bro, tried to tap my shoulder, I let the fully blow
She yelling at her man all through the phone with dick all in her throat
Yeah, this a red key, you drove a Scat' and now that bitch feel slow
Arguing with the cops, he searched the whip, but he ain't check her tote
'06 Charger, but it barks like a '22
Front end, the old gen, the back half is brand new
Front bumper, matte black, back, Santorini blue