[Verse 1: Vic Spencer]

Put some sauce on it

Pull my dick out

Put Lara Croft on it

You make up facts like a lost prophet

You peep the old synopsis

I get fresher clothes gothic at the germ like hawk spit

Infectious as fuck

Fucking with me, I'm wishing your ass a guest list and luck

On the rise like a tidal wave

One of my old hoes decide to play on my phone, she want schlom

In the P-Wing, sitting in the back of a gold C-Brig

Interior gold and black like a bee sting

See things, like the kids from the 6s and gets his, get bit on a Hula Park benches



[Verse 2: Chris Crack]

Trill niggas never die so I'm acting reckless

Death wishes on my set list

I match quick with those hot girls

I rock worlds like Wanda or Shanaynay, don't play about my pay day

JK, barbecue sauce on big girls

And stale fried rice

I made bail twice the same night

I'm still smoking, get your ribs broken

For talking down on the Drip Gang

Tote iron like piss stains

LA traffic and I'm serving all six lanes

I'ma refrain from slapping rappers just for being average

And my polo kind of tattered cause it's from 89

So fuck you and that lazy eye just give me mine



[Verse 3: Ugly Boy Modeling]

You a coward so don't ever play me sour like the mustard

Part a nigga's head so hard make him think he Freddie Douglas

I sit back abstaining, stacking bags in a fuck it

You irrelevant like titties in the public reading "don't touch 'em"

Fuck you mean, huh? Fuck you mean?

Call us nice guy squad, we're all all stars on my fucking team

This blue dream just might take me to the Elohim

You fake blood like a Hollywood fight scene

He like "dude, you sexing my girl", ho, I might be

Fuck a possibility, dawg, it's quite likely

White lines, white tees, other white things

And I come true like a male privilege white dream