Sintro

If anything I could say that this cab was rare
But I thought «Nah, forget it, yo, Holmes, to Bel-Air!» (I'm gonna in your)
I pulled
Up to a house about seven or eight ()
And I yelled to the cabbie «Yo', Holmes, smell ya later»
Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air
«Uh»
It’s the real
«Yeah»
«If you don’t let me do what I do-»
«Also, real shit, uce, it’s like we flew all the way from Samoa to come out
here to get away from starving
And we’re still starvin' out there, uce!» (It's the real)
«We gotta get in the studio, ha!»
«Listen up, «I'm bein' straight up on this, but what the fuck ««What's in front of you, huh?»
«I know what you’re sayin', uce, what’s in front of us? That’s what we got.
But I’m tryna change what’s in front of you»
«You shit, ««Nigga, that’s what I’m sayin' though! I’m tryna change shit, so we can be
something»
Came up in the ghetto where them blades stay sharp in the nighttime
, never fuck with the moonshine
Big booty, slim waist on a thick dime
Yeah, that’s me, 'bout to go deeper
After that by the bass we fuck
We smoke, we fuck, it’s a good weekend
I’m in your with your titties, baby
But I gotta get back to the ground
One time for the 6-eighty-5, A-P-I-A
Slick tongue when I flip rhymes
Left numb like the clit of a dime, thank you ma-DAM for the bomb puss
How much time does it take to perfect the rhyme?
Same amount of time it took to bag an ounce
Hustlin' on the block, the flags is out
Gotta watch for the cops, them fags is out
Rollin' through the ville
I’m in love with these streets
You can’t keep me away
I’m runnin' through 'em daily
So much smoke, I need oxygen
Now that’s a big but you know it, bitch
I always dream to modern (what)
Jackie Chan, I got 'em (what)
Hit the bong with the son of a high chew
Spittin' game properly, never done sloppy
An MC but they label me Poly
Yet it’s my own kind here tryna stop me
I had to rearrange the game
'Cause motherfuckers name they line and in love with the crack pipe
Settle down, you ain’t built for the fast life
Study up, better get your little act right
Act right, agua
In a cup, fill it up, what, what
Now look at my whip, bitch
I’m ghetto as shit
a cold day in hell when
I end up sellin' my soul
And I ain’t gotta prove I’m the man, that’s facts
on the groove, my uce plays tracks, it’s like that
Shoutout to everybody that used to laugh when they hear me say I’m from Apia
City like I can’t rap
Man, fuck you!