Send in the striped white jets In through stained glass ceilings Ah-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-sh Color them white or red Don't let anyone find out Or expose your
Lily-white A little scared Tiger stripes In the corner of your eye. Motion Blur Racing thoughts Fireworks For you Mister Serious. You don't wanna
eyeballs, street cocaine You drink that white rum, you hit the roof What do you expect, one-five-one proof, yeah, oh You drive your Mustang down sunset strip
) Definitely exhort, any stalkin' Hawk gawkin' at silk fabrics when I'm walkin (Who rotten 'em) Fondle with right, yet, spec get delighted All a that jungle shit, whites
, what, the rings and things you speak about bring em out, it's hard to yell with my bat round in your mouth, its more than I expected I thought them
not save ourselves. To breathe is not enough. Yes sir, I Will. When you woke this morning you looked so rocky-eyed, Blue and white normally, but strange
, yo you shine so bright Tonight the only thing lit is our crew and off white [Evidence:] Well you's a shaky gun faker, like Enzo the Baker I strip studio
we got a dollar model president Carving his face up for the cover of the next new nickel Combing every cotton coil of his inner white wig Curling perfect
peoples champ Under-dog all his life earned his stripes doin things he aint like Like igniting the fifth all night huggin the strip servin a pregnant bitch hard white
me [Verse 2:] "Can you address the deficit? " Huh, well how can I say it? I ain't the one who built it up, so don't expect me to pay it "What if the
tryin to fukk you for free If u trickin don't even bother I'm a P-I-M-P makin bitches is ma scholar Played da blue and white yankee Striped polo with
found Picking on the pound Taking a sample just to let you know how it taste White in my blood never touched a drug Don't expect a hunter Don't thank
you expect from us, We niggas you can't trust, that don't really give a fuck, We dedicated to street life, game and hustle, I dont wanna be White, let
You never make sense cause you speak in tongues He who thinks he knows all will someday fall And someday will eat the words they say Expectations are
chicken to measure it, though Aynsley: You were? Guy From Alabama: Yeah. Aynsley: Yeah, where's the shit . . . or the white dove? Guy From Alabama: I
Look at your eyeballs, street cocaine You drink that white rum, you hit the roof What do you expect, one-five-one proof You drive your mustang down Sunset Strip
Lily-white A little scared Tiger stripes In the corner of your eye. Motion Blur Racing thoughts Fireworks For you Mister Serious. You don't wanna hear
