FB™| - Box Chevy (feat. Rittz The Rapper) | Текст песни

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• Box Chevy (feat. Rittz The Rapper)

Hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, hey, hey, hey

Yelawolf and I feel like a king in my box Chevy
Tell them other wack muthafucks
To get the pine box ready

Catfish Billy is lately
Don't get slapped wit' the medley
Still sippin' on Jack D to my neck
And my head start feelin' heavy

Doin' 125 down, I-29 really think
I need to start slowin' down
But I can't 'cause I gotta pretty blonde thing
Sittin' to my right that's blowin' me now

Oh, yeah, she headin' me
I think her name might be Becky
I was 'bout to drop her off
But I had to switch lanes
To get the brain she necked me

Aw, no, do you come in two's
Please choose a couple of friends
That could hoppy in the Coupe

Now we goin' steady
But I'm not lookin' for longevity
Pipes in the back, the lights of the night
Reflect sights through the dash
I'm nice to ride pass

My rims are super clean
Paint job that glitters and gleams
And I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

This whip is built for Queens
And you wanna be seen wit' the King
Well, I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

Tilted off Jim Beams
Sittin' off to the side, I lean
And I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

This whip is built for Queens
And you wanna be seen wit' the King
Well, I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

Fuck a Limousine rather ride ride caprices
My speakers vibrate the concrete beneath us
Ridin' 85, northbound, shakin' doors down
So I turn the speakers louder pissin' off polices

Fuck 5-star chick, gotta porn-star bitch
Ridin' shotgun wit' me, gettin' so wet
Now she goin' down on me, givin' road head
Bussin' on her forehead
Then I take her back to the homestead piece

Back in the caprice, took a sack of weed
And crumpled it inside a cognac blunt rack
Then it's time to jump back on the highway 85
Slumpin' in the seat like I'm hunckback

And my Chevy look so dope old school Vo's on it
Got it floatin' like a row boat
Gold flakes in the paint drippin' on the road
Drivin' slow like a show boat hoe

Don't act like you don't hear me comin'
I got the [Incomprehensible] and it's comin' out the clarions
12's in the trunk, flatscreens in the headrest
Wit' somethin' 'bout Marion, carry on

I be turnin' heads every time
When you see in the Chevy, man, she car-struck
And I'm far from hauled up, sup wit' trippin' like a bitch
Get in the car, slut, you know you wanna ride

My rims are super clean
Paint job that glitters and gleams
And I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

This whip is built for Queens
And you wanna be seen wit' the King
Well, I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

Tilted off Jim Beams
Sittin' off to the side I lean
And I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

This whip is built for Queens
And you wanna be seen wit' the King
Well, I wanna see the back of your jeans
In the seats
(My box Chevy)

Yeah, in the the background wit' the six-pack
And ridin', lookin' for the ladies
Peanut butter seats, have seat, girl
My peanut butter needs jelly

I'll chase you like jelly
If you ain't afraid to get messy
If you know the game
Then I'll let you call the shots like a referee, yeah

Now I'm drinkin' a deuce, deuce, sweet and slow
Feelin' like a Deuce, Deuce Bigalow
Played the the bitch like piccolo
Go anywhere you wanna go, pick a road

Interstate 59, 20, 75, 285, 85, southbound
Twins pipes like pow-pow
100 spokes on the vo'

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