Paul Cain - Chevy Ridin' High Freestyle lyrics

[Verse 1: Hell Rell] I'm a true hustler, I got the best product No rims on the Bentley 'cause I just got it I'm 'bout to customize it, take the roof off it Throw a system in it, some twenty-two's on it I got a chrome Ruger, yeah, I really love her The whole block run every time I finger f** her Get a mink dragging plus the Porsche riding I ain't forget about the lames, man, they all dying It ain't no question to who get weight n***a, I've lived in hotels for two years straight He needed two O's, I met him at Burger King He soft as baby sh**, this n***a want her to think Yeah, I know homie, I used to f** his chick Plus I was hitting him with work, he f**ed up a brick We came to his mama house with big 45's He paid me my money, that's why his a** still alive [Verse 2: Hell Rell] Die for my respect, fifty shots spraying for it You ain't fronting me sh**, why? 'Cause I'm paying for it Drop it to the bottom, come back one for one I let her smoke it, test it, he said it numbs his gums No piano, we touch keys What you know about that, but we ain't P$C We are D-I-P's, if a n***a try to front Give him twenty-one like he wanna see ID [Verse 3: Paul Cain] I'm a king, but me, I don't sit in the throne I ride a Continental Flying Spur, sitting on chrome 60K for the rims and the system alone The difference between this A-V, you see me whipping our own I hop out, flipping my phone, gripping my chrome Watch glistening, the bracelet not missing a stone Chain swinging, don't never think I'm slipping 'cause, homes Trust me, if it get shown, the fifth would get blown The real McCoys of a n***a's is bums Power kinetic with fire, once I get in my zone Ask about me, the [?] I used to live and it's on These OGs still try the shorty sh** when n***as is grown I'm a boss now, I'm laid back and sip on Patron I f** with model hoes, don't even call a pigeon for dome (But not just locally) Internationally, n***a, I'm known I'm doing photo shoots on yachts, taking pictures in Rome But I'm still on the block, boy Still a tinted-up-Chevy-Impala-riding hot boy Pistol in the box, boy I'm everything you not, boy You really need to stop, boy Take your eyes off me, and go and get your gwap, boy