Funky Cowboy Meets the Funky Drummer

I run my shit up at the clean hand shops off of slauson Flossing like my other than it reign supreme Crown fitted Why would they think I wouldn't when I'm in it like John Wooden with the cushion with the lean Bout, one eighty, bout it like I bop a nigga bobble like, Bobby Knight Mac Dowel type, ughh You Donald, it's duck season I'm hollow and buck often And fuck fallen off, I fuck often Caught him in deep thought tonguing, down a gold tooth Old spice with the pro tool vocals The old school with the home phone The old post kept the hoes loose Now I run my shit up on the world I run my shit up on the world, world world I run shit up at the clean hand shops off of slauson Flossing like my other than it reign supreme And still boss Why would they think I wasn't if I wasn't Fuck it, still buzzing tilt Douglas on the sauce It cost, one fifty to floss in one city for me Cause when you folks it's a different fee I'm either seen with the clappers The children of Black Panthers, the queens The pink panties, black bitches on the scene I mean, I never asked if you thought I was a wild boy Sick with it, let my style poise ughh Niggas had to get up out of Illinois Since a seen I was shy(chi) boy Now I run my shit up on the world I run my shit up on the world, world, world Ayo my money long, buddy long, but he slim Uh, the ghetto's right under that butter leather, but it's him, once again Slim with the grin, tilted brim, spinning hubcaps Ughh, fuck that, shitty bus paths I crack a flask on that ass off a BMX Yup, this ass tires, letting my chains flare yea, gold bitch it's always gold Play the welfare, chill chick I'm on a cell phone! Cool kid, I'm on a bike bitch! Swoop a nigga for a have to cruger niggas shit is dead Bitches fled from the verse they rather give him head 83, black and soul pass electro gold My shit shine bitch it's always gold Fuck a shiny suit, still giving shiners Don't blind'm, clothes linen The whole city behind him, ayw!