Four 12s

Four 12 kickers like it’s ‘94

Pop the trunk on em like it’s duffle dope

Keep a million units, I could see to it

Get the boulevard juckin like a thick booty

Uh uh uh do it

GO track a rap, trappin out of the Suzuki

Fall back, boys know exactly what I’m doing

In the Vera Cartiers and the Patrick Ewings

Drop top with a chow chow puppy

And my girl in a bikini top, breakin down the tuck

Way she rollin coulda swear we’s going bowling

If I can’t wear shorts then a nigga not going

Triple gold rims, not stolen

Twine got 5 cellphones on er, how you want it?

Call me up if you want that plug

If not, don’t trip, we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up

I’m the coldest, stack it til a nigga can’t fold it

Rolled in with a bitch from Beverly, she said she rollin

Twistin up a blunt, sprayed I got 4

And then I filled her 3 holes like I was pullin

2 texts on my phone by the time a nigga dippin

Trippin ‘cause I fucked er, my Jordan one stitchin

Faded the limp, one brought up on hustle and pimpin

These messages get ignored if it ain’t about no digits

What’s the deal, dawg? I’m tryna touch a couple mill though

Fuck a ounce, I’m tryna see how much it feel cold

I’m Sam Rothstein, clean, grab the shakers

In LA for months, I still won’t bet on the Lakers

Head cracked, run it back, wutchu sayin?

Hold ‘em baby, sucka niggas never playin

I’m getting head while I hit my bud

I’m in her mouth and then I’m out, we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up

I said baby girl “I do drugs”

Smoke dope and sell dope

Bitch I’m from DC, have the sexies off that cellphone

My motherfucker wire tapped

Nigga owe me money cross the country, tell em wire that

Fire that, fat breezy full of tracks

Loud pack, only smoking killa, hoe

Run in May season, Compton killa low

Fly shit, 88’ers on him, such a pilot

I do my own stunts, lil nigga don’t try this

My old bitch a dove, she got a new nigga

Happy for em both, I just made a few figures

Off the motherfuckin trap though

Walkin through the front but I’m leavin through the back door

Asshole, put that on the regular

Rollin Keisha, never smoking regular

Never bruh, never us, only smoke that pollside

Get you high enough, high enough to go salute God

Yea that’s death nigga, blow a ses nigga

Uh uh uh uh uh we’ll get back up

Uh uh uh uh uh don’t trip, we’ll get back up