Back 2 The Future
Back to the future yo all I need is just
A snippet of the orchestra
And now we rockin' leathers and
My team is dippin' Porsches
Trained in special forces I remain the same
Modeling the rugby with the horses on it
I'm lookin' gorgeous on it a light gallop
The suit is seersucker like a scallop
Cop the land and over time you
See the price pile up
My life style the dream of
Money though it feel nostalgic
It's sunny skies and good karma
That keep the cheese surrounding
(You'd be astounded motha'fucka)
I'm known to kick it like I'm Ronaldinho
My rhymes are spicy as a jalapeño
'87 fine Yovino
Cash the drift, one leaf wrap up the reefer
Now the vision seem clear
Just like the cover on the beeper
Zero-10, 7: 15, month of July
Shorty blowing on my dick my eyes closed
Smoke in the sky
Exhale, right through my nose
North bound, headed for gods
First check, a quarter mil
Half that, split with the squad, kid
Damn it's like
I don't even know which way to go no more man
Just reflecting on my life now
I gotta get with it yo
Deep reflection
Smoking drug as the wind blow
Ash the $50 marijuana out the window
My golden aura shine
Rising past the borderline
I crush the grape like a Greek
To make a gorgeous wine
Open the Dutch and let tobacco
Fly through the wind, the saga begin
38 parts, vivid like photography lens
Soon to see me dip mahogany Benz
I'm into quality
Monogamy with all of my gems
That means I'm, true to it
The beat I give the flu to it
Or maybe AIDS if I had it
'cause I'm a fuckin' addict
I'm on the terrace drinkin' wine
And eatin' fuckin' rabbit
To cleanse the palate
Lemon segments tossed up in the salad
Spark the pepper
My mind is like a Harvard lecture
Bronsolini going Persian on
The carpet texture
Ancient Roman on the architecture
Straight outta' mothafuckin' Queens, my team
We got the heart to wet ya'
A Dutch Master like Robben and Sneijder
Strike like a viper
The bottom of shoe tap like a typewriter
Pipe slider, I'm a fuckin' ninja warrior
We do the drug and eat ćevapi in Astoria
I ride zebras all through the jungle
Take rock and never fumble
Shoot gun, right from the waist
Slide piece to make it mumble
On the come through
Several grams are stuffed inside the grundle
Saw the goal line
Went airborne and did a tumble
Then I landed on my feet the two G's
Impressed the sand
Wipe sweat, right off my brow, next door
Dig up the lamb
That's been roasting over seven hours
Bronsolini smoke the deadly sour
A fuckin' winner like I'm Kenny Powers