الكلمات الأصلية
ENالترجمة غير متاحة بعد. نعرض الكلمات الأصلية.
We on a yacht, celebrating non-stop
Burning pot, thinking ‘bout the journey to the top
We on the grind, ah, who knew this shit’ll pop
I didn’t see it, it’s like my mind had it blocked
Now we hot, still to this day up shocked
Shorty flop, ready to jump right on the spot
‘Bout money, swingin’ till my man ops?
Stay focused, keep the rare words of my pops
Them niggas gon’ hate, done till the day I drop
I don’t worry ‘bout a nine in the stare? Spot
Colours, nardees with the buckets
Shorts with the tims like, fuck it
Real foreign and the sports look rugged
So I tanned in the oven
Hardaway, chris mullin in the hallway
Getting money, get away when it’s sunny
Feeling lovely, the ball fades for the summer
Brush waves, book pays, get it done, then we pumping
Ride around in the saab 900
New balance for the runners
Tanning with the honeys, at the stand to get lunch
Chop salad with the onions, out weird tryna function
Shooting dice with the loved ones
(Damn, I couldn't even sway to it)
Bubble coats, tell coach I need the boat
And seldom let us float, so dope with no smoke
Murder she wrote, had her burner revoked (decide)
Couldn’t compose it over burgers and coke
Ayo, pompously I approached her whole modesty
Novelty like a page out of poverty that I wrote
I told her I was dope (word up)
Yo, she didn’t believe me, she was stevie
