Fyutch Black Shades
Verse 1
I'm blazing with my J's on, I'm Cooley High
My hair tall, eyes low, I'm faded twice
Always got that green on me Irish pride
I beez about them trees, I'm a nature guy
Got that strong, got that bomb, got that napalm
Got that loud and the volume ain't coming down
I'm bumping Space Ghost Purp, burping ghost busters
Blowing blueberry blunts in my Burberry
Kush is my cologne. Train wreck is my fragrance
Can't wait til I get home. So I light one in my Lexus
Smoking on Kiesha. I'm puffing on that Reginald, that regular, that midgrade
I'm premium like my gas tank
Big bank dank of that stank stank. That skunk funk get you turnt up
Side down. Puff puff then pass out
My eyes red, I'm going out but you can't tell that I'm zoned out
My shades on, I'm showing out. And my hair so tall it stand out
Pre-chorus
F-Y-U-T-C-H the Great. High hair, don't care. Respect the fade
Chorus
Whoah, something feel different with my shades on
Eyes hung low, get my blaze on
Step up out the coupe smelling too strong
Ain't no shame in my game with my shades on
Yup in my black shades. Yup in my black shades
Gucci, Louis-ed out, or Versace
Pair of Air J's and my box fade
I can't see you lames in my black shades
Verse
Will the real Mr. Flattop hair stand up?
You can't touch my hair unless you grope my nuts
My hair so high you catch a contact buzz
That ain't cocky, its just cautious cuz I'm dope like drugs
Walk around the club, see nobody
These vintage Versace frames cost a grand, shawty
Forget them papers, I toke rillos getting tapered
Keep that Reggie for the Pacers, I got purp like the Lakers
It's FYÜTCH DOGG baby. What you know about him?
In a black Mercedes riding with your lady
Miss me with them snapbacks, I got a high top where your crown at?
I'm regal and illegal with a dime and a dime sack
We at my show, but before we got some time to play
She need to bust it down and twist it in a couple ways
Blunt in my left and her butt in my right hand
Hitting it from the back backstage in my black shades
Chorus
Verse 3
Can you smell what the FYÜTCH is cooking?
I'm baking cookies with the finest goodies
Of that herb you heard about that gets you trippy
And makes you loopy. This ain't for the rookies
My fingers so sticky my phone screen ain't working
When I try to start texting, my hands like adhesive
I'm a ROAR bong ripping, 1-hit and quit it
Plus I sprinkle it with keefage like a cherry on top it