The Wave Matthews Band - Joey Fatts, Da$h, Yams

Yeah, it’s your boy

Yamborghini on the motherfucking check in

AKA Wavybone

AKA the Puerto Rican R Kelly

AKA Young Chocolate Factory

Parentheses, no homo, you feel me?

In this life, you got two kinds of people

Those who ride the wave, and those who provide the wave

Me, Fatts, and Da$h, we out here providing the wave

In Versace swim trunks, surfing the seven seas

Y’all on the beach shore with your khakis rolled up

With your chancletas in your hand, just observing the wave

You feel me?

This that Tony T getting thrown off the boat

Rosenburg wouldn’t have died if he ain’t blow all that coke

Carlito watching bitches through the peep hole

Get a message to a seagull, fly away birdy, I’m 7:30

Laying on the beach, bitch on my torso, sand in my feet

Owl feather towel, just to try the physique

Sit at the top in the Zenith, see’d Athena, roll the weed for me

Hades hating, but it really ain’t a thing to me

Young immortal, nigga, skin made of wax and gold

Popeye with the red eyes while I’m puffing on the spinach, ho

Breaking any status quo, like Marshall Brady fragile nose

Went from playing snatch and go to selling niggas tracks for dough

It’s the rap camp renegade, syrup in my lemonade

Newports every time I scrape my dinner plate

Malt liquor and Backwood smoke fill my lungs and my fucking veins

Drunk texting a bitch who half naked in someone’s centre page

To keep it, I treats the shit just like the movie Heat

Show down in the fucking street, fire at the coppers

Blocka, blocka, call the fucking doctor

Think it’s a Opera the way that fat bitch singing

When the mobsters in the building, them alarms start ringing

Yeah, So, nigga

Ya heard?

it’s your boy, Yam, feel me?

I’m feeling like, this bitch

We got more bitches than them twins from Jagged Edge

Ya heard?

I’m in the wave fortress right now

With a cashmere sun visor, eating fried zebra back

What you know 'bout that?

Ounces in the dresser, trapping under pressure

Never been a one for Lexus, 40 leave him on a stretcher

Pray to God daily, know he got me through whatever

So I kept my ties and went and bought me a Beretta

Heater for the cold weather, and snow for the sleigh

And want more, then I got a gun store under my bed

And if he play with my bread, JFK a nigga head

Then it’s back to moving Brittany, staying low from K feds

My momma say I’m losing my mind because I creep with my nine

And now I’m rapping, shit, I feel like Shyne

lawyers for my niggas, try and buy him some time

Flip a sack to re up, now I’m back on my grind

Young niggas do it all for the revenue

Run up in the house with two niggas that ain’t scared to shoot

Let them cannons loose and send 'em to the sky

Then pray for better days ‘cause this the life we live until we die