Testo: Killa Kyleon. Purple Punch. Believe It Flow.

[talking:]
Yeah, y'all see us looking good mayn
Hand on the wood grain, 4's yeah
We still tipping baby, yeah

[Kyleon:]
I'm coming down in my slab, 84's on Perelli's
Candy paint buck seats, I call it peanut butter jelly
Pouring up the purple, blowing on some'ing smelly
In a button drop the top, and put the dropper on the belly
Hand on my wood, same thang on my dash
Got the pop trunk glowing, lights say I'm having cash
I'm rolling on glass, paint dripping red wine
Big grill with a woman, the fifth wheel on behind
I'm flipping through your town, higher than a cooter brown
Got some'ing on my lap, that'll make a hater move around
I'm doing bout a buck-o-five, on the highway
Bad yellow bone bitch, sitting sideways
I'm smoking like Day-Day, on Friday
Nothing less than a slab, parked in my driveway hey

[Hook:]
I got them swangas on my Lac, I'm taking off the ceiling
Candy paint butter, fifth wheel and the grilling
Sipping drank, blowing kush I'm chilling
Strap in my lap, if you thinking bout stealing

[Kyleon:]
Dead End South Park, my hood's so legendary
R.I.P. Fat Pat and H.A.W.K., that's so necessary
The first hood, to ever bump Screw music
So if it wasn't for us, you boys wouldn't of knew shit
I'll show you how to do this, 4's and the vogues
Looking like a Phantom Rolls, as I'm closing my do's
Suicide-suicide, like I'm killing myself
Damn Killa your shit clean, yeah I'm feeling myself
I got a bad chick with me, she Black and Italian
Pretty eyes thick thighs, I call her my black stallion
Got my chain and medallion, mo' pieces than a hippie
I done seen a few boys, but ain't none fucking with me
Uh no sir, I'm in them streets like them yellow lines
Stacked up like some pancakes, I keep me a yellow dime

[Hook]

[talking:]
Purple Punch nigga, hey Storm
You swanging the slab, a lil' bit too hard mayn
You damn near spilled, this hundred dollar cup
On my thousand dollar jeans mayn