What you want, nigga?
Man, I need that fuckin' 449cc shit my nigga
That four stroke (ok)
Five speed, nigga (five speed)
Straight out the Suzuki catalog, you feel me?
♪
Halo
Fire it up
Lighten it up, yeah, woo!
And it look like peaches in motion
On that side street we burning the ashphalt
It's my fault
I turned fast
My bad
Straight from the catalog (straight out 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 (yes sir)
And when the paint job chip
It is what it is
It is what it 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, cut up
Baby Napalm
Firecracker
Just because
I'll open up for you
For you
♪
Big talk, sike
Little talk, siding with the rush
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
(Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)