GT Performer
It's me, it's me uh, yeah
I got the big bag of Skittles
Like Marshawn Lynch
No matter what, we never far from a bench
Never far from a stoop
Never far from a hallway
Never far from a main street
Never far from a Broadway
Uh, we say fuck what the Law say
Yeah, I pay the white piano on a beach
Tryin' to reach a higher place
I know there's more out there then just us
Right? So when I fuck
I try to make a doctor with this left nut
Or the world's greatest opera singer
Contribute something to this Earth
Before I leave it and come back as some
Other motherfucker named Steven
From New Zealand
That don't smoke trees you know
That I'm a fiend
That's not gonna work I hope
It's just a dream, shit
There's shark on the menu
As I embark on this mission, to go cop haze
From 1-7-3 and Audubeezy five hundred dimes
Body stashin' by the pee-pee
Six hundred pounds combined
Stuffed like peppers in a Z-three
I used to ride the pegs on a GT Performer
Back of a GT Performer
I burn wood
Can't use no pussy heat to warm my chow with
Sleepin' on us
Then we pinnin' back your fuckin' eyelids
If you don't wanna taste my food
Then I'm fuckin' wild'n
I'm tryin' to get to the millions
What you speak on is childish
Big Lebowski with a pistol and a purpose
Open it up and stitch it
Back just like a surgeon
My plant size and structure'll
Leave you wordless
Chain-smokin' Skittles like I'm nervous
Your tree is worthless
Hottest strain in the game
I know you heard it
But still in the lab on some nerd shit
They used to label me a drug lord
Hundred packs in hot summers
I put up 'em in hands, now I got a brand
And we made it look easy
So when I say that I did it
These motherfuckers don't believe me
I talk shit, but still 'bout that action
Like Bronson and never let 'em do me
Like they did Nucky Thompson word
Back of a GT Performer
Uh, smokin' some strong marijuana right
Uh, I'm sick with the grammar
The Harlem glamour the boys try to slander
I'm hater-proof with the banter
Laundry bag fulls of P's like I'm Santa
Green thumb, green hand
Like I'm Bruce Banner
Keep my homie close, he a loose cannon
I'm duecey slammin' them shots back
In the gamblin' spot, 'laxed
Ramblin 'Pac raps
The highest nigga breathin'
In some Y-3 boots
Your whole style see-through
Keep it a hundred is what you hardly do
Shit, I'm godly, dude
On my '80s Heavy Metal, bumpin' Mötley Crüe
Mix the Skittle with the Cookie, no Taraji
Level I'm on, you'll never get here
Even with Bosley
Too sweet in my, they think it's Illuminati
They ain't even seen Hall & Nash probably
The room cloudy
Bad bitch, I'mma pipe her like Rowdy Rowdy
Shit, this bud got me drowsy
Back of a GT Performer
Uh, smokin' some strong marijuana
Some strong marijuana