Farm To Table
Ayy, bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch
Uh, smoke straight from the farm, I'm on my grow shit
Ayy, Reposado to sip, how much I pour ya
She in the Oscar de la Renta, I might have to de la Hoya
Call my lawyer, don't even ask me
Nigga, I came fashionably late, her style was Conde nasty
That Pyrex wit' tight neck, I swallowed my breath
Hers was more of an Architectural Digest, I digress
Wit' our chests we both get to speaking our minds
All kinda interior designs
Superior grapes from inferior vines
Switching time zones, these is curious times
It's loose noodles, no furious spoons
Fuck the waves if I could bury the moon, I mean
Shit is getting very cartoon
I keep this bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch
Uh, smoke straight from the farm, I'm on my grow shit
No boat, made our own waves
You hot or cold, no lukewarm
Can't have nobody folding, more coat hangers my way
No low hanging fruit here, I palm trees to the face
Won't speak hate to my face, y'all on some hoe shit
Bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (I smoke my own shit, man)
(What's it called?)
Smoke straight the farm I'm on my grow shit ('93 Boys, oh, what? You ain't heard?)
Uh-huh
This shit from farm to table, had to run it up
I never harmed an ankle
And a distribution chain so major I could start a label
We done got them '93 Boys hotter than Coral Gables
Sometimes I wish I could take a weekend off but I'm hardly able
Louis Vuitton liaisons, Pyer Moss out of reach of the DA's arms (let's go)
At Paris Fashion Week
Far preceding you rappers even having seats (been there, done that)
It's an unwopable waffle, the shit a masterpiece
Some fine art's Master P
Sidebar cash is king, my large bag of dreams
My daddy went Yankee, his son slanging gasoline
A million in the first three months is like two billion streams (damn)
We blowing up like Israel did to Philistines (free Palenstine)
Gaza strip, mobbing through Bethlehem and I'm rockin' Ricks
They been owin' us for the way they plundered the continent
Got the world buying plane tickets off of my Ghana trips
I've been walking it, my nigga, now let me talk my shit (talk yo' shit)
Bad bitch on my arm and she's no bitch (uh, woo)
93 from the farm, I smoke my own shit
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah