What It Look Like - Curren$y, Wale

We blessed to be here

It’s a blessing for you to be here with us

MMG shit, Jet Life, BOA, fuck y’all

What it look like

My niggas fly niggas, this is Jet Life, yeah!

For the occasion, paper planes

Look, what it look like

My niggas fly niggas, this is Jet Life, yeah!

Look, now roll my J tight

Ha!

You know what they like, yeah!

Paris SB’s make these niggas catch seizures

Foam game shitting on Irish Springs and Lever

Ha!

I’m more cleaver, clever

Whether any weather, nobody doing it better

Me and Spitta, Gucci bucket I’m Gilligan

Ain’t no Skipper but all my bitches is Ginger hair

My real estate sweet, yeah ginger bread

Probably seen meaner bars probably in the feds

Double M G forever though

Money got me pulling strings, I got that Geppetto dough

Always in them better clothes, I be with them better hoes

No bullshit, every shy bitch can get a rose

Meaning aroused, I’m sorry I’m not too good with vowels

I got a thousand bitches, I’m not too good with vows

We in Spitta Ferrari, brand new Tiffanys on me

Don’t fuck with PBS, but man, I’m addicted to Barney’s

That’s G shit, I be bumping Fiend shit

And I’m on a roll, you would think they giving me a X

Wordplay like a mothafucka

I’m Durant at the Rucker, your woman’s a perfect jumper

Wetter than a swish and I never miss

Get her out her delicates and I ain’t gotta tell her shit

Put it on whatever bitch, me and Spitta high as shit

Rex Ryan on these hoes, Jet Life forever bitch

The engine in back of my car

I’m clearly in a different tax bracket now, dog

Mainstream cheese but I ain’t acting like y’all

Rapping that gabbage, attracting maggots

I’m in Dulles waiting on luggage, luxury baggage

Four door carriage with the V8 S badges

I’m in the mirror of the Panamera

Looking at them haters crammed in the Dodge Stratus

Can’t keep up, get your liters in order

4.8, interior custom, leather suede borders

Not mine, I’m with Wale, I’m just a tourist on the set

Looking for dangerously hot bitches and safe sex

I get mine and I bounce like a bad check

You smell the ounce, I ain’t even in ya house yet

We smoke loud, might have to get your ears checked out

After your hoes leave the Jets' hangout

Them lames ain’t even know the newest planes came out

But I’m in every real nigga Cutlass in the parking lot of the Wing Stop bumping

So fuck it, I’m platinum in the streets

I never gave a fuck and that’s what they love

She just wanna fuck, homie just wanna hug

Rapping roulette, this life is a drug

And baby girl can’t get enough, fill her up