Lyrics

[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!