Cousin Jackson

[Hook: Yay High (Eyes Low)]
You see they talk about their wrist game
And how their chips came
But that ain't shit, mayne!
(Cause that's that petty money)
We takin' trips, mayne, switch lanes
Foreign whip game, got em sick, mayne!
(We got that ready money)
Screamin' how you flip cane
We on the strip, mayne, big chains!
(We gettin' pleny money)
Sick change, from the Lex' to the big Range
(Ya'll gettin' penny money)

[Verse 1: Eyes Low]
20 inch blades on the wide body Benz
Hardwood frames, spit Lucci on the lens
Jumped out the whip, with Gucci on the Timbs
Hat on tilt, with the Gucci on the brim
Come on, bitch! Who you know who do it like this?
I shop at Louis Vutton, you shop on two-fifth
I got your Honda Accord wrapped around my wrist
You wanted somethin' hard? Well, wrap around your lips
Let's get the party jumpin', like teenage kids
Game on me like them Green Bay kids
Now let me tell you who my teammates is
30 second alliance with the most wanted
Most blunted, trust me dog, you don't want it
I live life like it's supposed to be lived
And never put a personal on what's supposed to be biz
No attachment, don't nobody know what close to me is
Shout to one Cousin Jackson, it is what it is

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Eyes Low]
In 2000, I bought me a new V
Like, "Yeah, I'm sick and tired of the 90's. It's 2G!"
Big dough in the bizzank, guns and jewelry (Ooooh Oooohh!!)
The glamorous life, like who's he?
Fresh gloss on the whip, deuce deuces on the wheel
Wood grain on the walls, chrome pokin' off the grill
Purple Haze in that Swisher Sweet, smokin' like a grill
Got these bitches freakin' off, sniffin' coke and poppin' pills
It ain't nothin' to a boss, stones in the cross
But the difference is I own what I floss
Now zone with me, dogs
I practice what I pitch
But still that same dude that strap a package on your bitch
And have her on that train next to Gladys and the Pips
I'm somethin' like a pimp, but nothin' like a snitch
I'm tryin' to get this bread, laid back just relaxin'
Low and Yay High... *sniff*
Shout out to my Cousin Jackson

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Eyes Low]
Now if you're sure to see a nigga ridin' clean
And get often off the gleam
Then that's what rims are for! Timbs are more!
"Yo, let me hold somethin'!" Hell no!
That's what friends are for! Get off my door!
I never feel sorrow
Your nickname should be Can I borrow, cause I get paid tomorrow!
I'm with the wealthy on the green screen
I gave a dime for nine
You came back for two and eighteen
Sukka ass nigga tryna salvage three beans
Let her slide, I ain't really wanna cause a scene
You know the team, it's the black force with blaze beats
Straight from outta the back courts and wave streets
Yeah, you rhyme about passports on lame beats
So I'ma spit about passports and plane seats
And how I visit the same places you can't reach...

AHHHHHHH!!! The fuck man?!?!?

[Hook]

[Outro: Eyes Low]
Niggas get ya'll mind right, man!
Cousin Jackson represents the 20 dollar bill, nigga!
I'm tryin' to splash out right now, son
You know what I'm sayin'?
Gettin' everything, that I wanna get right now
Spendin' my bread, comin' up
Nigga tryin' to ball, pop my collar, let's get it!
One!