Air Forces

I went from old school Chevy's (ay), to drop-top Porsche's (yuh)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't seen what I've seen

I can get a hundred thousand in these Sean John jeans

I went from old school Chevy's (ay, ay), to drop top Porsche's (yeah, that's right)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't did what I did

Where you from, where I'm from you gotta get how you live (hey)

Everybody already know, Jeezy a real street nigga

Every time you see me out, I'm with real street niggas (that's right)

I hope you got yours I keep mine (uh-huh)

In the club blowing dro throwing gang signs (yeah)

And you already know, dawg

745 back to back, me and O-Dog (whoo! Yeah)

These other niggas is jokers

What they rein' up wit' I spent it all at strokers (uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh)

In one night, eight bitches, ten bottles of Cris' (that's right)

Forty grand spent just to make you glance at my wrist

Keep bread so we carry dem toasters

But keep back though my earrings ferocious (ay, ay, uh-huh)

It's not just my imagination

I'm knowin' I'm the topic of your conversation (yeah)

Jack boys say they gon' rob (uh)

But on the real fuck niggas y'all don't want these problems

I went from old school Chevy's (ay), to drop-top Porsche's (yuh)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't seen what I've seen

I can get a hundred thousand in these Sean John jeans

I went from old school Chevy's (ay, ay), to drop top Porsche's (yeah, that's right)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't did what I did

Where you from, where I'm from, you gotta get how you live

Black tees, black ones, and a fitted cap

The Mac-11 make me walk wit' a crazy dap, ay

Y'all say we country niggas, "Yee-haw"

The money comin back and forth like a seesaw

And y'all ain't never seen what we saw

Stacks of 20 dollar bills, bricks of white raw

Where they got little faith, they don't care about shit

Ludacris (ay) how they ride out 20 with dem' bricks

Shit I spit it for y'all

On the real my niggas, shit, I spit it for y'all

Who gives a fuck about friends?

If you mix the baking soda wit' it you can get a Benz (I said)

While y'all robbing and boosting

I'm standing over the stove like the chef at Houston's

And it's not about the flip mane

Want the real bread, dawg, it's all about your whip game

I went from old school Chevy's (ay), to drop-top Porsche's (yuh)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't seen what I've seen

I can get a hundred thousand in these Sean John jeans

I went from old school Chevy's (ay, ay), to drop top Porsche's (yeah, that's right)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't did what I did

Where you from where I'm from you gotta get how you live

I went from old school Chevy's (ay), to drop-top Porsche's (yuh)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't seen what I've seen

I can get a hundred thousand in these Sean John jeans

I went from old school Chevy's (ay, ay), to drop top Porsche's (yeah, that's right)

You couldn't walk a mile off in my Air Forces (ay)

And you ain't did what I did

Where you from where I'm from you gotta get how you live