Paydays

Another day's dollar, holla if you hear me Chillin' by one of my baddest bitch's older sisters You know how them hoes be pretendin' That they so close and kendrick to that jet pimpin', give them all that 4/20 vision One spoke up on my stroke and the other one got defensive They both figurin' out they both getting dicked down, kill em with my old schools Bitch you car sick, huh? Chevy man see me in that Corsica Or a GT Berreta, nigga low as fuck If I'm not on tour Pimpin', I ain't doing much Except rolling up, building scale model low rider trucks In my Jet Study where I keep my books Pilot Loft, each entry, each verse, each hook About the shit I really saw and the chances I really took Cars I really drove, women that really chose No Phantom over here Pimpin', Cinnamon on my rolls Breakfast, first-class flight from New Orleans to Houston Texas Flight time 45 minutes 37 seconds Wheels up to wheels down last time I checked it for the record Flow deadly and alot of niggas respect it on a daily Creating these speaker blessings At the car wash, they finishin' my tire dressing Im on the conference call discussin' how my merch selling Loot in coming for all directions You want to mention 'no hustlers', but never play the cut with us I got my numbers up, countin' in the sky Burning doobies in the coupe, D.W. high