Jeremih
Jeremih - Ol' Skool Pontiac lyrics
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[Hook x2] In my ol skool Pontiac, sippin on Cognac Ten racks, sit back, ditch that Cognac Niggas get to talking what they talkin’ they be all that Runnin’ round the city someone tell me where the party at [Verse 1: Jeremih] I’mma get this paper, like I did before Say you feelin’ low, go and hit the dro Cruisin’ like I’m aimless niggas famous and I got the dough I’mma a star so let me shine nigga.. Glow Yeah, I aint stuntin’ in this bitch Say you hurtin’ yeah that's I’m fine in this bitch Did that song with Fab but now its my time in this bitch Not into the X-Games but I grind in this bitch Yeah, think its fair, think again Plenty one’s, couple five’s, stack the tens Got the tree, break it down, keep the stems By yourself? Hell naw, bring a friend Nigga I be on that shit that ya’ll aint heard of Girl you know your man down Tell me what you scared of? Gon’ and lift your skirt up I know we usually cruisin’ in the Beemer kinda tired of the Rover So you probably catch my leanin’ in my [Hook x2] [Verse 2: Big Sean] Okay, I’m rollin’ o-o-o-o-ozo boi I’m dumb high, I’m dumb high Yeah nigga West side bitch I run my Hoe slow it down like I got my thumb high And I got her on her knees like I got my gun (high) I’m in my old school I feel like the alumni Wishiing we could trade cars, comin’ from the underground Cause bitch I’m working grave yard Car lookin like its sittin’ on thirty floors, thirty doors, thirty whores Few black bitches and Fergie whores Nigga this shit look like Jersey Shore I’m on fire bitch, a loose cannon My cars Bruce Wayne, I feel like Bruce Banner Rip her clothes off, car so big wanna whip that shit Don’t stand to close when I hit them curbs Motherfucker might clip them toes off B-I-G I’m that important You spend all day with her spoonin’ I spend all night with her forkin’ [Hook x2] [Verse 3: Paul Wall] I'm in my old school American made build in Michigan Squeezin’ that wood grain, my fingers keep on blisterin’ Haters keep on whispering talking down snickering Cause my name the one boppers and groupies keep on mentioning Range Rover, Bentley, and Benz I’ve done em all But I’d rather flip a jfk Lincoln on white walls My motto is grind hard, paper shit to follow Philosophy for Franklins something like Aristotle Double cup filled to the top so drive slow In the ’59 Bonneville with the bumper hangin’ low I cruise through the Chi Hit Mc office for the munchies My slab is candy pomegranite I get some country Coming straight out of Texas, where the old schools rule Take notes how I slab professional act a fool [Hook x2]