Skrt, skrt, psh

This song is about a car accident

[Verse 1: Michael Christmas]

Uh, yah

And now I'm crashing, moving different directions

Before I kick the bucket I got to complete my check-in

Got to get my check up, make sure I don't regret it

And when you're almost dead you start thinking about the best shit

Me and Ciara eating and plotting our future

Head like Medusa, the DJ banging (?) my head like Mr. Koopa

(Blaw, blaw)

73 in a Mitsubishi

Swerving across the lane, head smashing the window pane

Looking down' cause I can feel this pain

Stomach cut, a little blood, that's what's up

Niggas made it, now we up

And I want championships like cups

I'm trying to collect them shits like mugs

And go to space and shit like Bugs

With my Lola, she's a cholo

And she say hola, I need Boca

And my pops called me up like you talk to Boffa?

(Yo you talk to Boffa?)

And I'm like Boffa?

And he like both of these nuts! Got him! (these nuts, shit)

Yo

Superstar stats (Winning)

Over (?) 96

We don't fuck with that side like a twix (Nope)

'Cause they all think we do that same shit (Fuck 'em)

And they all think we want the same whips (Fuck 'em)

And they all think we want the same bitch (Fuck 'em)

And they all think we'll never know shit

Lights flashing, oncoming traffic, oh shit