Lyrics Box of Wheaties - Quelle Chris, Denmark Vessey, Maurese

Box of Wheaties

Right, some kinda groove here
It’s a little bit groovy down here
Bah, bam, boom, bam
My mother, God, I hate my mother
Pearls like fuckin' dinner plates, you know what i’m sayin?
I mean, they’re so refractive
My uncle, he had an IROC in '86, and before that
That’s right, he had the mark VIII with the whitewalls there
And I remember he had, uh, the inside was plush
Everybody else told him to get leather
He said, «Nah, you know, my bad back»
I wanna be riding around in a plush velour suit
Plush velvet, I’m talkin' in the color of gunmetal grey, right?
Now you’re talkin' velour on velour
Hey yo, yo
I’m ballin, y’all should put a nigga on a box of Wheaties
I’m skatin', when I dip, just put me on a box of Wheaties
I flip it for the gold, gone, put me on a box of Wheaties
I hold up weight, these haters need me on a box of Wheaties
I kick it, they should stick a nigga on a box of Wheaties
I run it 0−100, put me on a box of Wheaties
I par up bar for bar, pa, put me on a box of Wheaties
I K.O.
every day yo, put him on a box of Wheaties
I been on splash for eight and a half, feels Fellini
Back to back, I have no time for dancing off the TD
Keep my people with me like Kirk and GP
They can’t see me, say he hard to read like graffiti
Pen, gym, bar, work, get ya numbers up
Rake up in fall, no chill in winter, lit the summer up
Oh you know nan' y’all best start acting like you owe me something
My brothers don’t sleep and my sisters roll Dahomey 'cause
This shit right here, this my year
Stepping out feeling like the shit, my dear
Forget those fears, drip no tears
For the real, let me make it crystal clear
This shit right here, this my year
Stepping out feeling like the shit, my dear
Forget those fears, drip no tears
For the real, let me make it crystal clear
I’m ballin, y’all should put a nigga on a box of Wheaties
I’m skatin', when I dip, just put me on a box of Wheaties
I flip it for the gold, gone, put me on a box of Wheaties
I hold up weight, these haters need me on a box of Wheaties
I kick it, they should stick a nigga on a box of Wheaties
I run it 0−100, put me on a box of Wheaties
I par up bar for bar, pa, put me on a box of Wheaties
I K.O.
every day yo, put him on a box of Wheaties
Oh, you fresh now
Since the rider requests masala and eggs
Some caviar and French shit
Subscription to Rich Nigga Monthly
With Shad Moss on the cover, limited edition
My bootstraps pull up
My walls do a 360
I got the shit that the government got
Yeah, you God damn right, God
Blood, tears, and bite marks
Fighting, sweat, it must been heavy metal in the right, guard
Not a Led Zeppelin in the sweat from goin' quite hard
According to this pie-chart, I should be in the psych ward
I wrote the real nigga algorithm on the whiteboard
They white-washed the style and put the rhythm in some Izod
It’s close to four cyphers in a row
On the time bomb, I mean I’m finna blow
I figured you should know
You might wanna get a pic for posterity with your Nikon
Before you hear obligatory yos
This shit right here, this my year
Stepping out feeling like the shit, my dear
Forget those fears, drip no tears
For the real, let me make it crystal clear
This shit right here, this my year
Stepping out feeling like the shit, my dear
Forget those fears, drip no tears
For the real, let me make it crystal clear
Ooooh, I know you wish you felt this high
But I’m telling you
No feeling low when you’re this high
That’s why they gotta put me on
I remember the first time I went to the motherland
We talkin' what, '73, '74?
I remember we flew into Dakar
And this brother, picked me up from the airport, in one of them, you know,
them Flintstone cars, you know?
One door on the muhfucka
Four mismatchin' wheels
No headlights, we in Dakar and this brother ain’t got no headlights.
Every- and the brothers in the street, everybody about as black as the night
We go off into the abyss, take off, we talkin' bout 60−70 kilometers an hour
I don’t know what that means, but, I know it was fast
We flyin', you know, we flyin' through the Dakar night
And I’m losin' my shit, you know, 'cause I can’t tell where this brother going,
we drivin' into the void, you know
And this motherfuckin man, you know, he just, laughin', you know
And only now, you know, at 67 years old, that I get it
You know?
'Cause now, I’m that car, you understand what I’m sayin'?
I’m that brother behind that, you know, Flintstone car, you know what I mean?
'Cause I got one door, I got one headlight, but I tell you what,
I know how to drive that motherfucker, I know how to drive that motherfucker,
I tell you that, you know?
You and your friends think you’re bad
You’ve ended a life
Destroyed a family
Over a jacket, wheels, words
So who’s next?
Your best friend, your sister, you?
Hey kids, get rid of your guns before it’s too late