| Orange lights on the digital dash, the Coupe’s lit
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| Never dime’s on the passenger side of my shit
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| H-Town true O.G., that rep her shit
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| Sideways parked at the door, with no mercy
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| Lamborghini, new bikini, Louie on my bitches
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| Presidential, continental, got her going first class
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| Toast with the pot, when I go driving
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| Kush got me floating real high, like flight mileage
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| Rain on my window pain, it’s no thing
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| Cause I’m still trying to lead this game, with no stain
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| My penitentiary nigga’s that be locked in the shoe
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| I send them pictures of some real shit to come home to
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| I’m in an ice cream, white lean, cocaine car
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| Born and raised in South Park, I’m a hood rich star
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| H in the air, nigga I don’t care
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| Riding mean every day, pulling broads by the pair
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| Super clean, new machine, bitch I ride nice
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| Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, I’m rocking ice
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| Pimping at an all time high, I wonder why
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| Dirty south till the day that I die, we still fly, uh
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| I got a whole lotta' Prada, I’m in love with Gucci
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| But ain’t nothing like the belt and the shoe that come from Louie
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| Financial, new? |
| Mark Jacob’s give them hell, red bottom’s never fell
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| Rain on my window pain, just ain’t the same
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| Eight figga’s for the price of the fame, I love this game
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| When thing’s get trashy, cut it out the plastic
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| Hustler on his grind till they put him in his casket
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| Seven-thirteen don’t make me say it twice
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| You know it’s hustler U.S.A. when they look at the lights
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| Don Ke' he the legend, tall as a full?
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| He done shut this shit down when my squad pull up |