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feat. Donwill & Von Pea |
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Verse 1: |
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[Von Pea] |
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I usually rock around 92 BMP |
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They say I rock like its '94 |
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But I don't know if that's some kinda flaw |
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This ***t feels like im sittin' in a Commodore |
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She kinda fly but might have some kinda sores |
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Is that a real one? |
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Or what they accuse Nikki of? |
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Feel son |
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For never lettin fools trip me up put it on the glass |
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I got issues, still they put me in the mags |
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Original |
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[Donwill] |
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Classic don't mean ***t |
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Cus yall apply the word to works too recent |
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I applied to work employed by 6th Sense |
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I provide the vibe the Native Tongues greenlit |
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And even if my body's locked can't trap my soul |
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Cus Eric B and Rakim taught me all I know |
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Guest professor, I guess I'll let the streets lecture |
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No tuition snuck in all semester |
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Verse 2: |
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[Donwill] |
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Green bottle, brown liquor, red cup |
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Clear goggles, red fitted, black Chuck |
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Norris, Bad ass to the nth degree. |
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And I don't have bad days, they have me |
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Credit check, dues paid, ends meet and separate |
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I'mma stretch em out until they both straight |
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Catch up? You late! |
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Browse the catalog like you Chris**as shopping dog |
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[Von Pea] |
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"Over this 6th instrumental |
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You get a phone number from a lightskin ho" |
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I just offended you huh? |
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It's a quote and my quandrant never quantizes or quits |
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My fly ***ts the ***t |
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Chocolatey to the sister of ya mami B |
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And Nesquik to ya next chick |
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I walk through Bed Stuy blastin Spec Flix |
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Gimme a check that is enough to exit |
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It's cliche but we on that next ***t |
