[Intro: Trademark Da Skydiver]

Yeah, Super Villain in the building

Jet Set music, haha, bitch

Whattup, Spitta

[Chorus: Trademark Da Skydiver]

I think I'm Trademark, Da Skydiver

Locked in a cockpit like a jet fighter

I'm rollin super doobies, pass me my lighter

Smokin sour every hour, I can't get no higher

I said im Trademark, Da Skydiver

Locked in a cockpit like a jetfighter

Im rollin super doobies, pass me my lighter

Paper planes every hour, I can't get no higher

[Verse 1: Trademark Da Skydiver]

Let us do our thang, it's Jets over everythang

We got the shit on lock, like cell blocks in Sing-Sing

Fly kicks, heavy bling

I'm married to the game, the money is the wedding ring

Call me Peter Parker, I'm in love with Mary Jane

Super doobies on deck, pass me the flame

Niggas jumpin ship they bitchin up and switching lanes

You know who you are, I don't have to say yo name

Co-captain of this jet, you not allowed on the plane

So get it right, homie, we are not the same

I live that Jet life, you just livin' lame

I get the cash and dash, word to my nigga Dame

I'm on bubble like 'caine over an open flame

Jet-set in the building, fuck who else came

The shots fired from a silencer im taking aim

And rappers out like im at the shooting range

I'm like a stack of hundreds, you just some loose change

I think im Clark Kent, or maybe Bruce Wayne

Nah, more like Harvey Dent or Dr. Strange

T-M-S-D the S-V, who gon' stop my reign

[Interlude: Curren$y, Trademard da Skydiver ]

Right here, Trademark da Skydiver insisted I would be saying the hook, but I don't want to

(I'ma karate-kick the shit outta Spitta)

Just enjoy this shit, do what you wanna do

Alright here's the hook, let's go

[Chorus: Curren$y]

I think I'm Cheech, I think I'm Chong

I got my Weed, I got my Bong

Livin in the fog, don't know what goin' on

But I dont give a fuck, long as my money long

I think I'm doughboy on my front post

63' Impala in my driveway, Saints-gold

Sittin low, though im higher up

Dickies cuffed, crispy Chucks, spittin' tough

[Verse: Curren$y]

Nigga what, yo' records suck, bitches don't listen to yo stuff

They with the jets, we in the cut, settling for less that ain't for us

Suppress the hate in yo blood, makin ya'll lookin like girls

Poodles can't eat with the pits, bitch, it's just a dog-eat-dog world

Too clean to be fucked with, supreme like a Cutlass

MC Hammer, you can't touch it, better use some gloves or somethin'

Far too potent to be smoked with them hoes 'cause I dont know them

Snickelfrits, them bitches not official Jets misses

Im just sittin cool whippin, twistin' green tree, Christmas

Chew so many sweet rappers up, I'ma need a couple fillings

Sun burnt, my roof peeling, no tornado took my ceiling

Its in the trunk, think mo' Bill Batts, Casino