[vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_single_image image=”3299″ alignment=”center” border_color=”grey” img_link_target=”_self” img_size=”400×400″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_raw_html]JTNDaWZyYW1lJTIwd2lkdGglM0QlMjIxMDAlMjUlMjIlMjBoZWlnaHQlM0QlMjIyMDAlMjIlMjBzY3JvbGxpbmclM0QlMjJubyUyMiUyMGZyYW1lYm9yZGVyJTNEJTIybm8lMjIlMjBzcmMlM0QlMjJodHRwcyUzQSUyRiUyRncuc291bmRjbG91ZC5jb20lMkZwbGF5ZXIlMkYlM0Z1cmwlM0RodHRwcyUyNTNBJTJGJTJGYXBpLnNvdW5kY2xvdWQuY29tJTJGdHJhY2tzJTJGMjAxNzU5NTIzJTI2YW1wJTNCYXV0b19wbGF5JTNEZmFsc2UlMjZhbXAlM0JoaWRlX3JlbGF0ZWQlM0RmYWxzZSUyNmFtcCUzQnNob3dfY29tbWVudHMlM0R0cnVlJTI2YW1wJTNCc2hvd191c2VyJTNEdHJ1ZSUyNmFtcCUzQnNob3dfcmVwb3N0cyUzRGZhbHNlJTI2YW1wJTNCdmlzdWFsJTNEdHJ1ZSUyMiUzRSUzQyUyRmlmcmFtZSUzRQ==[/vc_raw_html][vc_accordion collapsible=”yes” active_tab=”false” title=”Lyrics”][vc_accordion_tab title=”Verse 1 – Nick Flash”][vc_column_text]
I party like it’s 1954.
White tees, slick grease up in my pompadour.
Comin up, slamming caddy doors.
Smokin on dat mango ,you can smell that thang all on my clothes.
Flippin ounces of that reefa,
Killaboombox keepin knockin in your speakers.
Fresh pair a chucks ain’t no scuffs upon my sneakers.
Dj so what got the cuts that keep ya leaking.
Dancin all night long,
I like my bitches wearin thongs smokin blunts and bongs
Full a sour in shower I be making songs,
till I can get a track by Baauer and say I made it Mom.
Yeah that’d be mad decent.
Pullin bad thots in spots that I frequented.
If ya not hot, get lost, I’m not speaking.
Taking mad shots on yachts that’s Norwegian
Man I do not just rap.
I do a little bit a this and a little a that
I write scripts and take pictures of bitches with ass,
I may have dropped outta school but I’m ahead if my class.
You haters got ya head up ya ass.
See if you wanna excel you gotta betta ya craft.
And you can bet Ima laugh,
at all the bitches used I diss me now be kissin my ass
[/vc_column_text][/vc_accordion_tab][vc_accordion_tab title=”Verse 2- Ikabod Veins”][vc_column_text]Fall in this bitch feelin like cash.
Chillin lika a villin, killa might brag. My bad. my bad
My bad, my Bad. But you girl look offended by my side chicks ass.
Thats a fact. Thats a muthafucking fact.
Ikabod gonna spaz,bitch this aint no act.
Ikabod so rad, Ikabod trust noone but his muthafuckin dad.
Now back to the facts, sip qual not ack.
My lil homie griff cop qual by the packs.
Sell a pint for a stack make a muthafucka laugh,
like hahaha, rich kids get taxed.
Thats the way that it is, Ik roll by myself but I came wit cha bitch.
Im a baller. Jordan so far from a scholar,
known for rockin tatoos right above the collar.[/vc_column_text][/vc_accordion_tab][vc_accordion_tab title=”Verse 3 – Murkem”][vc_column_text]
Jumpin on the beat I flip dey minds like some acrobats.
I’m bringing it while they still talking this and that.
They think they know me? But dey don’t know me.
Matter of fact… dey can stop trying to clone me
I’m Riding low key, my Monte Carlo so clean
All chrome daytons on the feet with them vogue thangs
Block beatin, yeah I’m something like an OG.
Slidin in that Chevrolet, a playa keep it on me
Act rite. I’ll take ur limelight
U can’t catch me I live that fast life.
Money on my mind and imma get it like the last slice
Smoking sticky doujaaaaaa, to keep my mind rite.
Know it’s alright, feelin so nice.
Get it how I live it In the sunshine
Always keepin breezes, cleverly dodgin one time
Leave haters DOA. If they try to take mine
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