[Verse 1: Vic Spencer]
Put some sauce on it
Pull my dick out
Put Lara Croft on it
You make up facts like a lost prophet
You peep the old synopsis
I get fresher clothes gothic at the germ like hawk spit
Infectious as fuck
Fucking with me, I'm wishing your ass a guest list and luck
On the rise like a tidal wave
One of my old hoes decide to play on my phone, she want schlom
In the P-Wing, sitting in the back of a gold C-Brig
Interior gold and black like a bee sting
See things, like the kids from the 6s and gets his, get bit on a Hula Park benches

[Verse 2: Chris Crack]
Trill n***as never die so I'm acting reckless
Death wishes on my set list
I match quick with those hot girls
I rock worlds like Wanda or Shanaynay, don't play about my pay day
JK, barbecue sauce on big girls
And stale fried rice
I made bail twice the same night
I'm still smoking, get your ribs broken
For talking down on the Drip Gang
Tote iron like piss stains
LA traffic and I'm serving all six lanes
I'ma refrain from slapping rappers just for being average
And my polo kind of tattered cause it's from 89
So fuck you and that lazy eye just give me mine
[Verse 3: Ugly Boy Modeling]
You a coward so don't ever play me sour like the mustard
Part a n***a's head so hard make him think he Freddie Douglas
I sit back abstaining, stacking bags in a fuck it
You irrelevant like titties in the public reading "don't touch 'em"
Fuck you mean, huh? Fuck you mean?
Call us nice guy squad, we're all all stars on my fucking team
This blue dream just might take me to the Elohim
You fake blood like a Hollywood fight scene
He like "dude, you sexing my girl", ho, I might be
Fuck a possibility, dawg, it's quite likely
White lines, white tees, other white things
And I come true like a male privilege white dream