Nascar Driver

Bitch I’m a rider, I’m gonna make it
Balenciaga on all my laces
Stepping in Prada, I don’t do basic
So sayonara to all the fake shit
Blessing these bottles, I’m getting wasted
Sexing top models, this shit don’t make sense
Where is the guala? I’m gonna chase it
NASCAR Driver, bitch I’m rack racing
Think I fell in love with the money, we got a special bond
Something about the smell of them hundreds turns me to Megatron
Trap phone ringing like a telethon
Nigga testing the waters, I’m swimming with the Megalodons
I had hella guns ‘fore I ever wrote a sonnet
And had grams in the trunk like Pocahontas
Smoking Newport’s the only time you blow 100s
I was at the give and go, when I couldn’t get a show
They wouldn’t let me in the door, had to put in dumb work
Locks opened up like a DMX concert
Now I’m up first, next might be too long shit
I was living in Atlanta when my songs hit
Like I know them hoes at home sick
You bitches sucked the wrong dick
Who you on the phone with? Bet that nigga broke
Probably bumping this like that damn that nigga dope
Bitch I’m a rider, I’m gonna make it
Balenciaga on all my laces
Stepping in Prada, I don’t do basic
So sayonara to all the fake shit
Blessing these bottles, I’m getting wasted
Sexing top models, this shit don’t make sense
Where is the guala? I’m gonna chase it
NASCAR Driver, bitch I’m rack racing
Thugga don’t be spitting? Nigga who you kidding?
I was freestyling, even Nas thought it was written
Shitting on these niggas, getting pampered by their bitches
Crunching up these figures, trying to analyze my riches
Can’t sympathize with snitches, I kept my lips locked
When them pigs was on my heels was like Kaepernick’s socks
Solid as a rock, niggas can’t budge me
You ain’t been where I been then you can’t judge me
'Cause you don’t know about them flights that I had to book
Wishing good luck on them keys like a rabbit’s foot
Know it sounds like I channeled Push
I used to push ‘em cross the channel
Iverson with the pistol ‘cause if they don’t have my scrilla-
Then I beat ‘em with the handle
You niggas couldn’t walk in my shoes, my feet slide right in Jesus' sandals
Perfect fit, fuck your girl to Prince
And she is, if you still ain’t convinced-nigga
Bitch I’m a rider, I’m gonna make it
Balenciaga on all my laces
Stepping in Prada, I don’t do basic
So sayonara to all the fake shit
Blessing these bottles, I’m getting wasted
Sexing top models, this shit don’t make sense
Where is the guala? I’m gonna chase it
NASCAR Driver, bitch I’m rack racing