Vic Spencer & Chris Crack Cue Ball
[Verse 1: Chris Crack]
Ah, yah
Look
You ain't gon whip, get out my kitchen
Imma still go the distance
I don't park ‘cause I don't need no tickets
Just read the scripture
Green room for little bitches finna killing shit
Making sure they don't fall behind
Still rocking Karl Kanis [on the side?]
I'm more defensive like the tallest guy
Hit the [Moët Chandon?] at the mansion
Or the thrift store I flick clothes
Just so I can get hoes to get hosed, uh
I break it down like a kicked door
Spilling it is so good, ha
We made love to all music
And they start to look foolish, duplicating ways
‘Cause I started this whole movement
Don't know how these hoes do it, ah
[Verse 2: Vic Spencer]
Ah
Sicker than bananas, the man is on his business
Gucci spenders (huh?)
Pink rag on my sweats cause I'm a member
Got you tender in the Pinto
Getting [throat?] for months
Having fun with bitches straight outta the slums
Bout to come back to the 70s, jeans and a sweater
Saucy with the creamiest leather
Plushed out, tough route
I should have enough out
Kicks greener than a brussel sprout
Next to bounce, out of nowhere
You take selfies, because you have nobody else in your life
I live a hell of a life
Inhaling a line, telling the stories of crime
To the youngins, knowing what they becoming
