LYRIC
Underneath his banana republic
Hit your man out in public
Understand he was thugging
Pitching grams you was hustling
He ain't scramble for nothing
Knew how to handle a onion
Done with nickel and dimin'
He was getting cosignment
Kept a chick in the climate
Wanted a '64 Impala
Had a clique that was solid
Wouldn't snitch on his rivals
But his bitch was unloyal
Ran her lips to the five-o
Takes a sip from the bottle
Fills a clip up with hollows
Grips on his pistol then he dips with his rollows
They on a mission for murder, but all he want is the paper
In the Chevy smoking heavy Hennessy with no chase
Started of small-time 'till the kid graduated
To a contract killer, jacking niggas for Daytons
After he got his rims, got his whip candy-painted
Few weeks later he's sitting at his arraignment for a [Hook: Fashawn] '64 Impala, '64 Impala
All I wanted was a '64 Impala
Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala
Sitting on Daytons, on a mission for dollars
In my '64 Impala, '64 Impala
All I wanted was a '64 Impala
Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala
Sitting on datents, on a mission for dollars [Verse 2: Murs] No matter where you from, the goal has always been
To have a '64 Impala, motherfuck a Benz
Want them hundred spokes, not them low pros
I'm fucking with my folks, they got them low-lows
A '96 is dope, a '64 is classic
We might just stop to make that motherfucker hop in traffic
You see the double S, it's like a turbo jet
Free rolling candy, now watch us serve your set
You ain't seen nothing yet, we waiting on the other half
My baby floating over asphalt like a hover-craft
She over 40, bro, but ain't over the hills
She stay down for me, so I know that it's real
So much chrome in the grill, she lighting up the sky
You rolling up on me, but motherfucker, why
New pumps with a ten switch box
You about to get embarrassed while your friends just watch, nigga [Hook] [Outro: Fashawn]
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