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Yah...Lames catch feelings, we catch flights, Ugh, Jet Life, Jet Life Race cars and weed jars Uh, I got a style for every bump in your face Grease ball ass nigga, Pontiac judge, open and shut case You know, I'm bow tied till I die, though I made an exception for the '69 So quick off the line Coin double side, no matter what, we heads up We in the yard, tell your dogs they should be aware of us We break it off, like an engagement gone bad I fill your jaccuzi with them groupies make it a bird bath, miss me? No you didn't bitch, with that bullshit, miss me Tryna claim Spitta name, tyrna be Ms. Me All of that, kicks to me, silly rabbit trickery You only around because my spot is where you wish to be Hope to catch me sleepin' by being freaky but baby girl Let me be the first to say it's not that easy I wasn't born yesterday, nor later on that evening Just had to get that out the way and make the playin' field even Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, ski dooo doo dooo doo Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, ski dooo doo dooo doo Songtexte And the view from the rockin' chair improves But I've yet to see a team fuckin' with the crew Near fall, I saw it all, wide frame Everything with wings ain't a plane man Indo get rolled up like car windows Avoiding the police man, them car Winslows The wind blow in change, and I am not mad Old garbage bag rappers need to find a style fast Its written all over niggas like a Dapper Dan Survive rough land, cactus plants growin' in desert sands Alive I stand, left for dead, though a nigga didn't die I got highed up so I could autograph the sky Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, ski dooo doo dooo doo Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, Michael Knight, Michael Knight Michael Knight, ski dooo doo dooo doo Yeah, Shalah, Louis rich Definitely dressed down and everybody here know it Yo, a snow white Aston on the ground with a poet Louis the kid, who told you to come to the crib Threw a bag in your lap and told you don't blow the kids We milled up, actually my flowin' is real tough Sport these gazelles, faded leather on real rough Bank account, don't even question Spent all my money last year buyin' shit investments Marvelous, gangsta, New York nigga, make me sick Rather screw honeys who ain't cuffin' All my life, six black kids stolen right from kick dice And strip you and slice you So listen young niggas, I'm a give you some jewels quick Don't ever rat your friends out, you stand in a pool of shit Lookin like a crab ass faggot Sooner or later them boys that was hating on you got the ratchets Aus Songtexte Mania