[Hook: Yay High (Eyes Low)]

You see they talk about their wrist game

And how their chips came

But that ain't shit, mayne!

(Cause that's that petty money)

We takin' trips, mayne, switch lanes

Foreign whip game, got em sick, mayne!

(We got that ready money)

Screamin' how you flip cane

We on the strip, mayne, big chains!

(We gettin' pleny money)

Sick change, from the Lex' to the big Range

(Ya'll gettin' penny money)

[Verse 1: Eyes Low]

20 inch blades on the wide body Benz

Hardwood frames, spit Lucci on the lens

Jumped out the whip, with Gucci on the Timbs

Hat on tilt, with the Gucci on the brim

Come on, bitch! Who you know who do it like this?

I shop at Louis Vutton, you shop on two-fifth

I got your Honda Accord wrapped around my wrist

You wanted somethin' hard? Well, wrap around your lips

Let's get the party jumpin', like teenage kids

Game on me like them Green Bay kids

Now let me tell you who my teammates is

30 second alliance with the most wanted

Most blunted, trust me dog, you don't want it

I live life like it's supposed to be lived

And never put a personal on what's supposed to be biz

No attachment, don't nobody know what close to me is

Shout to one Cousin Jackson, it is what it is

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Eyes Low]

In 2000, I bought me a new V

Like, "Yeah, I'm sick and tired of the 90's. It's 2G!"

Big dough in the bizzank, guns and jewelry (Ooooh Oooohh!!)

The glamorous life, like who's he?

Fresh gloss on the whip, deuce deuces on the wheel

Wood grain on the walls, chrome pokin' off the grill

Purple Haze in that Swisher Sweet, smokin' like a grill

Got these bitches freakin' off, sniffin' coke and poppin' pills

It ain't nothin' to a boss, stones in the cross

But the difference is I own what I floss

Now zone with me, dogs

I practice what I pitch

But still that same dude that strap a package on your bitch

And have her on that train next to Gladys and the Pips

I'm somethin' like a pimp, but nothin' like a snitch

I'm tryin' to get this bread, laid back just relaxin'

Low and Yay High... *sniff*

Shout out to my Cousin Jackson

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Eyes Low]

Now if you're sure to see a nigga ridin' clean

And get often off the gleam

Then that's what rims are for! Timbs are more!

"Yo, let me hold somethin'!" Hell no!

That's what friends are for! Get off my door!

I never feel sorrow

Your nickname should be Can I borrow, cause I get paid tomorrow!

I'm with the wealthy on the green screen

I gave a dime for nine

You came back for two and eighteen

Sukka ass nigga tryna salvage three beans

Let her slide, I ain't really wanna cause a scene

You know the team, it's the black force with blaze beats

Straight from outta the back courts and wave streets

Yeah, you rhyme about passports on lame beats

So I'ma spit about passports and plane seats

And how I visit the same places you can't reach...

AHHHHHHH!!! The fuck man?!?!?

[Hook]

[Outro: Eyes Low]

Niggas get ya'll mind right, man!

Cousin Jackson represents the 20 dollar bill, nigga!

I'm tryin' to splash out right now, son

You know what I'm sayin'?

Gettin' everything, that I wanna get right now

Spendin' my bread, comin' up

Nigga tryin' to ball, pop my collar, let's get it!

One!