Tundra

Driving in the car
With a range that's ultra far

I be hijackin' the stars
With the Scar, keep it on my back, yeah
I'm runnin' up them racks, I run it fast
I say that's quick cash
These bitches be paranoid, I took a hit
Hit your sister
And I'm still free of codeine
No promethazine in my system

See by the way you lookin'
I can tell you got that pussy nigga syndrome
Choppa bullet had that boy cartwheel
Left his blood on the Sentra
See all I ever known is that
Slash shit and thrash shit
Your bitch call me Jason
But what you don't know about me
Is behind this Mac is fog
And I still can't miss

Pickin' up the fuckin' blower
Blast his ass till next October
But bitch it's only January
Once I beat that body, bitch it's over
And all my niggas locked down in Newark
Like what the fuck?
I thought the war was over
We finna spaz on they ass
Get back on they asses
We plant money trees in our grass

I keep success in my bag
Stunna after stunna, runt I'll roll up on and

Passa you a blunt, better call me master, grunt

Well, this a no fly zone
These mosquitoes is in my zone

I up the blick and blow
I mow down all my foes

See, there ain't no need for all this action
We up in the tundra, active
Actin' like some motherfuckin' fools
We go and grab the gat and
Clock that nigga sideways
For looking sideways
You see my nigga, this our ways
When you comin' down this road, this my lane
John Bethea Parkway

Now park this car, bae
I've shown you how to move it
Shown you how to shift gears
Yeah, I've shown you how to push it
Shown you how it move, yeah
And I'ma do this shit for life
Until the day I die
See, you niggas ain't really like that
Stop playin' with your life

See, this shit get realer and realer
Every day, man, I swear to God
Did I really have to grow up like that?
Every night I'm askin' God
Shoutouts to all my niggas makin' bread
Yeah, we gettin' that dough
Police kick down homeboy front door
Caught him at the crib with the blow

Jeffrey, no, not Epstein
He just carry clips, ain't empty
He got Mags on Mags
And bags on bags of the E-8s
No hash, we don't do grass
Get the fuck up off your couch
And get them niggas out yo house
Cause we got work to do nigga
Like is you ready?
My boy keep 2 blicks
Know that my team is always ready

We keep demons here
Roll 'em up in the midnight air
Call that hellfire
Caught a opp, then skin 'em
Serve that nigga for breakfast and dinner
Yeah he charcuterie now
Get the fuck up off the ground
You finna do shit how?
Finna lose shit now
I just filled the Louvre with oppas blood
We got Picasso in the house

Fillin' up the trunk, I'm loadin' up the trunk

You may not know what's coming
So nigga, you better duck

Ain't got no time for runnin'
You say you was standin' on sumn

But all I see is a pussy nigga
Man, better take your bitch ass home

This shout out for Bradley
And for all my niggas sadly
The way I handle all this weight
I'm barely happy, I can't get happy
I'm feeling fairly fucking lucky though
Blast off to the moon with another dose
This official, see I cannot go
I'm here sittin' at your window

Blowin' smoke, remind me of the times
When I was just a kid and always skipping school
But not no more, your homeboy grew up
And found out that the world is full of fools
Done seen a lot
Within my short lifetime
So much, but the icebox cool
We grew up in that concrete jungle
And now we living in the Tundra

Run away
I can't escape
I can't escape
Run away, away, away