{Verse 1]
Posse, posse
Shawty lookin' saucy in an all white huarache
Sike, I just missed the bitch, she rockin' Stan Smiths
That have ripped jeans and a bomber that won't mix
Never fall for this type of shit
Matter of fact [?] turn your old ho into a new bitch
True this, she a toothpick, on some tragic shit
What a magic trick, laughin' quick
On my bastard tips
See through a catfish like a pair of fake tits
Face it, it ain't worth it in the long run
So save your breath and hold the check, hun
Ain't no sane man, fuck it with no soggy buns
I like my bread with some extra crisp
[?], trust me kid
Break a leg, or bust a limb
Going toe-to-toe with the double O
On some ignorant shit
An asshole, or bully
Put a rapper shorts up a flagpole with a pulley
Super sick sicko with a sickle
Skin a Geico gecko and sell it for a nickle
Then donate it to Peter with a Pickle
I like them shits deep fried, with the sticky on the side
And a Five Alive, a mind of finer for the flavor of designer dye
It's do or die, so don't mind if I
[?] a motherfuckin' fruit fly
They been products of the fruit of my labor
Keep it straight up like a [?] with a taper
Double Ohmmy, a Ferrari
With a [?], known to chug wasabi as a hobby
Sheesh
We some little men
But if you look in her eyes and see the cinnamon
Sweet