| Howard Beach, JFK, this is the express train
|
| Keep all your belongings by your side and enjoy the ride
|
| Ride it like that
|
| Composure is hooked
|
| When she be posing the tush
|
| Turn around exposing the bush
|
| Motherfucker, he rollin' in kush
|
| So much loud I’m ballin' with a Busch
|
| Three strikes deep, bonin' like I’m Butch
|
| No three stripes whole gang on swoosh
|
| Swoosh, home bound out the fuckin booth
|
| Tone it down for the youth
|
| Bone it down from the caboose, oof
|
| I’m feelin' fuckin' loose truth, no truce
|
| To any goof tryna stop me I’m on pursuit to the fucking loot
|
| Coupes, I ain’t got no license
|
| Long as I got a roof, a little dough inside it
|
| Something to roll inside that with some dope inside that
|
| Man, let me roll my dope, don’t get me fucking side tracked
|
| She read my horoscope, look like I’m on the right path
|
| Yeah it might be bullshit, but it might be tight facts
|
| Anywhere I pull up, yeah I’m tryna write raps
|
| 'Cause the mix gotta keep cooking when you got it like that |