Real Mug Fuggin Jets

You know I got love for the West Coast
Yeah
Yeah
Nigga
Cannon, Cannon
Cannon
Some concerns bitch
Act like you know
Uh
I'm still
Sixteen switchin'
Still back bumper scraping
Patty-caking, frame to the pavement
They been looking for me, I bene on MTV lately
Chasing paper, macking to the latest
Smoking out vapor, riders
Laser red eyes, sun out where I'm driving
Dropping my visor
With my bad bitch, she a rider
Weed in the grinder, mind on a million
Patio on top of the building
Owning this shit, not renting
That's the shit that I'm spitting
I could pimp an alley-oop (?) I'm sitting
At the Hornet's game, and I'm eying them groupie bitches
You dealing with some real mothfucking Gs
Say I ain't the best, we'll mother fucking see
(Hold on mama)
Jets in this bitch, twist the mother fucking trees