Suzuki Peaches

Man I need that fuckin' 449cc shit, my nigga
That 4 stroke
(OK)
5 speed, nigga, straight up
(5 speed)
Straight out the Suzuki catalog, you feel me like
Halo
Fire it up
Lighting it up
Yeah, woo
And it look like peaches in motion
On that side street we burning the asphalt
It’s my fault
I turned fast, my bad
Straight from the catalog
You don’t want a Honda
You don’t want a Yamaha
Suzuki
Twisting ballerina, whistle ocarina
That extendo-seater (Speed)
Spike like cowboy bebop
Yeah, that rubber heat up
Baby, can you keep up?
Can you?
Can you?
Red handles, ooh la la
(He got the red joints)
Red handles, ooh la la
Red handles, ooh la la
(He got the red joints)
Red handles
And when the paint job chip
It is what it is
Is what is
It is what it is
I try not to
Think about it too much
Try not to
I’m not tripping
I’m not thinking about when we copped that
Take it to a shop for a paint job
You said you like apricot
I’m like nah, can’t do that
Need that atomic tangerine
That glossy, that candy
And it look like peaches in motion
On that side street we cut up
Baby napalm, firecracker
Just because I’ll open up
For you
For you
Big talk, psych
Little talk, siding with the rush