[Curren$y:]
Eight cylinders, two doors
A back seat nobody can sit in
No rust on my door hinges
There'll be no squeakin' when I get in
Spent a few dollars
To ride a old school Monte Carlo without a problem
Reliable as my newer whip, homeboy-
I Really do this shit
No tint on my windows:
Hella high with nothin' to hide
Pirelli tires clingin' for dear life
Them rims wide, my nigga
Four cars, one summer
Still east-side Spitta frontin'-
Like you don't remember
Had them rims matchin'
That was way back then-
2002-knowing who I was
But I didn't know you
The fuck you talking 'bout
In that shit cruiser
That you're dragging through the parking lot?
'87 Aerocoupe-I had that-targa tops
The King Arthur of the Car Club
Trophies tall as your oldest kid
Place them next to my Switchblade 86
Your girl asked to take pictures leaning on it
Made you sick
Floor shifting. A true SS
Not a clone with bootleg ground effects-
Leave that shit at home
Authentic- the description of all things Spitta
Roll a joint for my oil change niggas in fifteen minutes
Take two pulls, let my bitch hit it

Doing a hundred in the eighty-fo'
It's that monte carlo music, trillest shit I ever drove