lirik lagu mbox - silver surfer
[intro: 917 rackz]
(thank you, timmy boy)
(ryan, what took you so long?)
vroom
[verse 1: 917 rackz]
me and brodie in the f~ckin’ beamer swimmin’, b~tch, i’m silver surfin’
you ain’t fit to jump up in that ride, i heard you still rehearsin’
any day and any time, bro get you hit for certain
get paid for payback, the maybach had came with silver curtains
[chorus: 917 rackz]
this m5 that i be slidin’, no, there ain’t no competition
trappin’, cookin’ up a bird and i be ridin’ with the chicken
swear to god, the opps remind me of the pistons
smoke that goofy out the pound, go to his grave and take a p~ssin’
on ninety~five, we hawk him down and we start bl!ckin’
she see the beamer and the benzo and the b~tch start takin’ pictures
you wanna train on the range, i’m on the jackie doing tricks and sh~t
she give me [?] in the backseat, she doin’ tricks and sh~t, rackz
[verse 2: mbox]
ain’t with the chit chat, ten bands, i sip that
ten lines, i skimp that, m5, i tint that
m8, i wrapped it, red pint was plastic
redeye, i gassed it, fish tail, i crashed it
bad vin, i swapped it, black benz, i bought it
back ends, i caught it, back ends, i lost it
bandemic babyman, i k!ll for a variant
my plug smokes weed with no grabba, vegetarian
x7 m60, take up two lanes (two lanes)
your man died last night, this a new strain
blacked out m8 competition, feel like bruce wayne
i’m a bolt to the money like i’m usain
shh, i’m on a crash course, x7 m60, f~ck a task force
i just pulled up to the trap, what you ask for?
cop said, “pull over, put the keys on the dashboard”
i need some element, raw tips and some bristol
i’m in a supercharged durango, it’s a f~ckin’ missile
knocked in the city, you’ll get five years for pistols
sixteen a pop, he needs a g~pack of dispo’s
no check gang, i was born in the 4matic
’bout to go live in a rolls with the gold patek
got on gallery cargos with the chrome jacket
box boys sh~t, i got a tab with the whole planet
[verse: 917 rackz]
this m5 that i be slidin’, no, there ain’t no competition
trappin’, cookin’ up a bird and i be ridin’ with the chicken
swear to god, the opps remind me of the pistons
smoke that goofy out the pound, go to his grave and take a p~ssin’
on ninety~five, we hawk him down and we start bl!ckin’
she see the beamer and the benzo and the b~tch start takin’ pictures
you wanna train on the range, i’m on the jackie doing tricks and sh~t
she give me [?] in the backseat, she doin’ tricks and sh~t, rackz
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