They see an Impala hop with the highs on
The ground burns smooth under the tires
How pretty that they watch us pull up, with the iron on the waist
They watch them trip, cruise with the H
The lowrider's gonna roll old-school
On alert, on point for the situation
And California is where I live
And for my people, wherever I am
Working hard I stood out and the sun came up
I've got both Impalas slammed at the house
Plus four babes who always text, they say "what's up?"
I tell her that I'm super lit
That I can't talk, that I'm high as f*ck
And move aside, yeah yeah yeah
I don't get scared, I don't freak out
The streets were shortcuts
To get ahead in this life
Designer shoes, the priciest clothes
I stay with the baddest drip