Lyrics:

Yeah...
And I'ma Nike Head My car enticed to Feds
My bitches pouring on bread You countin corny bread
I slice a G-loaf can cop a speedboat
Can't sing but they know Spitta holding C-notes
critics say that he flow only bout weed they don't know about me They just judging from my Tweet Quotes
since they don't understand him they figure that it ain't dope
fuck 'em no
I'm with my niggas and my bitches everywhere we going my older homie he flicking pictures
he tripping cuz he just came home locked up all that time ain't know that I became a Don
the same way Ace Boogie put Money Mitch back on
Welcomed him with open arms
JetLife niggas wishin they was in the fold
They ain't they in the fuckin cold
I'm in the paint dunking on niggas
expanding my crib my garage gettin bigger
call Rozay tell him to sell a donk to a nigga
or point me to expert buidler i want purple ghost flames on the hood and the fenders
have it covered, trailered, delivered to the cirle of winners
I'm a be in there chillin where I parked my other race cars clearing out a space for my newest edition
It's Spitta
The master of the Car Talk no engine my shit powered by the oil sparks
straight sicken