Paydays

Another day's dollar, holla if you hear me
Chillin' by one of my baddest bitch's older sisters
You know how them hoes be pretendin'
That they so close and kindred to that jet pimpin', give them all that 4/20 vision
One spoke up on my stroke and the other one got defensive
They both figurin' out they both getting dicked down, kill em with my old schools
Bitch you car sick, huh? Chevy man see me in that Corsica
Or a GT Berreta, nigga low as fuck
If I'm not on tour Pimpin', I ain't doing much
Except rolling up, building scale model low rider trucks
In my Jet Study where I keep my books
Pilot Loft, each entry, each verse, each hook
About the shit I really saw and the chances I really took
Cars I really drove, women that really chose
No Phantom over here Pimpin', Cinnamon on my rolls
Breakfast, first-class flight from New Orleans to Houston Texas
Flight time 45 minutes 37 seconds
Wheels up to wheels down last time I checked it for the record
Flow deadly and alot of niggas respect it on a daily
Creating these speaker blessings
At the car wash, they finishin' my tire dressing
Im on the conference call discussin' how my merch selling
Loot in coming for all directions
You want to mention 'no hustlers', but never play the cut with us
I got my numbers up, countin' in the sky
Burning doobies in the coupe, D.W. high