For Seasons

[Verse 1: Curren$y]
Higher than ever, gray leather
Head rest, 2 letters, double S's
I love them Chevys to death
These niggas fakin' they ready, forgettin' they lines on set
Don't know how to play they role, they more inclined to play themselves
I just live amongst them trees
Bakin' goodies, keebler elves
Smokin' with them bitches got em' focused in the kitchen
Pots whippin I'm chillin'
My and my nigga' grub like kings and then we dippin'
Interstate, lane changer, Rover Rangin' 96
Lighters flickin' like them blinkers
A motivated stoner mind blown but I be thinking
Matchin' Benzes in ten days kid, live to talk about it like Ace did

[Hook x2]
We just worryin' bout the money them bitches gon' come
We just worryin' bout the money them bitches gon' come
We just worryin' bout the money them bitches gon' come
Nigga pay that up front like the Ferrari trunk

[Verse 2: King Chip]
Yeah my nigga we in this bitch
Smokin' strong that's the long
Got some shit that get you gone
YSL, Dior Homme
I'mma do this whole verse without no punch lines
King Chip really livin' fuck the one time
Spitta hit me up when I was in Vegas, like you need some weed?
I say hell yeah must have read my mind, where it be
Twelve thousand dollar outfit in that Tech G
I don't owe nobody shit, King Chip debt free
Matter fact, couple Cleveland killers owe me
I can tell 'em keep it, have 'em run up on you no P
Locked inside my head, hella weed, hella dead cops
Me and Spitta smoke too much to not have dread locks
Stalking haters on my Twitter, sniping 'em with headshots
Bitch ass eighth grader, fucking hater dead now
Damn that nigga Chip is crazy, maybe it's the weed, Spitta
E'rybody know that ain't nobody cold as these niggas

[Hook x2]