BBS (feat. Curren$y)

Yeah
Smoking out the big jar, nigga

This that gold BBS flow
Plastic Nike Air tags on your original 4s
Niggas done Z'd on ya mans and I'm rollin a O
Leave 'em sleep, I don't need them suckers listening to me
Pack the bong full with everything except the kitchen sink
Underneath which I keep a set of Andis clippers
I can fix my lining up 'fore we go over by them bitches
A quick little something, can't get the back
I don't know where I left my hand mirror
Type of dilemmas'll never hinder my jet living
We just chillin so don't come around here, fake toughing
Running off the women, bossed up, all us
Outside the club waiting to tip drivers who pull our cars up
The fuck you thought this was, dawg?
I'm a trill motherfucker after all
Haters is dressed as safety nets encouraging my fall
Won't catch me there
But you can catch me on air when my new shit premiere
At whatever media outlet decide to play it fair
Fuck playing dead, pimpin', I'ma play the bear
Grizzly, seriously
Fishburne turn, flip styles furiously
This that 70's Soul Green, Al chemistry
Ay mane, been a G since Buddy Lees
Lames be cuffin they jeans, and they bitches
I be cooking these bird ass hoes, running circles 'round 'em
They rotisserie chickens
Love gotta shovel in her hand, I see you digging
Strike gold, build yo own coffin with it; dead ass
Flick ashes on the girls in my past tense
The telly's for the ones I was just fucking
The crib's for the one I was gon' get right back with
It's easy to get tangled in the stars, spangled
Mangled in the night life, living out my bars, dangerous
Yeah