"
Nah-nah, good lordy, wowdy, I just took more shots than Kobe"
Smoke until I got no lungs
Got her going down, no teeth
I call it "speaking tongues"
Do it! Do it!
Now you speaking my language
From where they twist and talk with they fingers
Man, but this ain't no sign language
Yes, fresh out of the ashes it's a Detroit fukking classic
From where MM got the masses, Trick Trick got them passes
bytch I'm from the Motor, Motor
Yeah, that motor be the fastest
bytch, they call it Motor City
Because you're most likely to crash
fukk it!
Good thing I got a chauffeur, chauffeur
Going broke?
No sir!
bytch I'm a rap game stylist, because I gave the rap game style, bytch
But I over shine
Ain't no nikkas over shine
Told them "Roll up five quarters" so I guess we're going overtime
Till we dumb high, dumb high
Westside, bytch, I run mine
I'm rolling around in my old school, I feel like the alumni
fukking hoes, no strings attached
So don't ask me why they strung out
I'm like Jordan to you nikkas
I might need to stick my tongue out
She wiggled and wobble, bobbled
Then land on my throttle
bytch, I might make you my baby
And even buy you a bottle
Your nikkas don't ask how the top feel
When you keep them right beside you
My pockets got paper on paper
This shyt just look like a novel
Hundred thousand worth of ice on me now
But it don't feel half as good as Grandma say, and she proud