Murs & Fashawn 64 Impala
[Verse 1: Fashawn]
The cannon, he tucked it
Underneath his banana republic
Hit your man out in public
Understand he was thugging
Pitching grams you was hustling
He ain't scramble for nothing
Knew how to handle a onion
Done with nickel and dimin'
He was getting cosignment
Kept a chick in the climate
Wanted a '64 Impala
Had a clique that was solid
Wouldn't snitch on his rivals
But his bitch was unloyal
Ran her lips to the five-o
Takes a sip from the bottle
Fills a clip up with hollows
Grips on his pistol then he dips with his rollows
They on a mission for murder, but all he want is the paper
In the Chevy smoking heavy Hennessy with no chase
Started of small-time 'till the kid graduated
To a contract killer, jacking niggas for Daytons
After he got his rims, got his whip candy-painted
Few weeks later he's sitting at his arraignment for a
[Hook: Fashawn]
'64 Impala, '64 Impala
All I wanted was a '64 Impala
Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala
Sitting on Daytons, on a mission for dollars
In my '64 Impala, '64 Impala
All I wanted was a '64 Impala
Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala
Sitting on datents, on a mission for dollars
[Verse 2: Murs]
No matter where you from, the goal has always been
To have a '64 Impala, motherfuck a Benz
Want them hundred spokes, not them low pros
I'm f..cking with my folks, they got them low-lows
A '96 is dope, a '64 is classic
We might just stop to make that motherfucker hop in traffic
You see the double S, it's like a turbo jet
Free rolling candy, now watch us serve your set
You ain't seen nothing yet, we waiting on the other half
My baby floating over asphalt like a hover-craft
She over 40, bro, but ain't over the hills
She stay down for me, so I know that it's real
So much chrome in the grill, she lighting up the sky
You rolling up on me, but motherfucker, why
New pumps with a ten switch box
You about to get embarrassed while your friends just watch, nigga
[Hook]
[Outro: Fashawn]
