don t matter just don t bite it and don t spill my cup and i don t want the bottle unless they sell mine up she wanna fuck in my car so we fucked in the trunk mr officer you handcuffin or what for hundred dollar two liter i pour that shit up i owe this nigga but i don t give a fuck just made sixty off the road damn right i scrape this shit up goin back and forth that i m in grade with the plug take what they want they think i play for the son i come from straight runnin guns my heart don t play one on one i sip that drink till i m numb and i m impatiently dumb like once our dude calls you an uber you can stay till they come your ho just smoke up your grass yeah your last yeah just been spent sixty racks on taxes just last year got me back sellin bags yeah no halfs yeah pourin hi tech out the glass yeah don t know how i ain t crashed yet when crunch time all the youngins go to stickin shit up outside with that iron while they clinkin the club booty plump she got trunk shawty shakin her rump i ve been gone a couple months tryin to see what is what quita know matter what i swear i love her to death when i was fucked up all the girls she was the only one there quarter chicken got delivered got it thrown on the scale when the money go flippin all the herb go to hell ya tell her oh well get weed from somebody else designer stitching on my denim you could tell by the belt vacuum suction on the lips murdered the blunt by the time you go to hit it ain t the shit for your lungs  1