My Chrome

You don't have to go home
One time, one time
One time, one time

Easy, that cook shit got me sleepy
Rollin' down 85, leaning but I ain't weaving
Man, you should stay a day in the A
A parade of them Chevelots, colors of flavor aid

Can you, believe I got it made
Impala in the garage, got forces and all the J's
I'm leaning bad, ride shotgun in the Chevy
With the homeboy burning sacs

We heading to the spot where we get down, nigga
Where the bitches at, they talking right, acting right
Walking right, now to take flight, they ain't gotta go home
They can stay the night

You don't have to go home
You can stay right here, put one in the air
While we are in the, corners of my chrome
Same shit another year, in the southern hemisphere, wait a while

Nigga hold up, hold up
Make sure they see you when you roll up
Hop out that truck all ready fucked up
Tore up from the motherfucking floor up

From the floor up, to the ceiling
Smoke kiss in the walls in the top of the building
Little momma's on, sitting next to me
She's catching a feeling and I'm feeling, like I'm 'pose to

I'm as fly as a Jordon poster, I'm leaning in
A mix of hydroponic by the the time
My click find me in VIP I'm lost in a cloud of chronic had sex
With the best, got head from the rest, motherfucker believe I done it

You don't have to go home
You can stay right here, put one in the air
While we are in the, corners of my chrome
Same shit another year, in the southern hemisphere, wait a while

Hot tub tony sucka free and still bublin'
Truck still rattling and bumping now move something

Hold up Big Boi, I'm still weed crumpling
Sac keeps shaking and block keep jumping
Lay back, lay back, treat this eight six cut like a Maybac
Hey, show these suckas that after 50 million sold
Daddy fat sacs is still where the hood at, hood at

Hood rats and decoy b-boys understood that
Wheater its creme de la creme, where the good at
I got it in that 1.5, I had to put the swisher down
'Cause my lungs got tired, now let's ride, let's ride

Back down 85, five
With the click in the truck
Full of chick in the back of the 6
Nobody going home tonight

It's time you go home
Straighten up your hair, you don't need a mirror
You can fix your makeup in my chrome
Same shit another year, in the southern hemisphere
Wait a while, before you go home
Ahh! It feels like ecstasy
The sound, whoa, feels like ecstasy
Oooh, oohh feels like ecstasy (feels like ecstasy!)
The groove, takes control of me

You don't have to go home
You can stay right here, put one in the air
While we are in the, corners of my chrome
Same shit another year, in the southern hemisphere, wait a while
You don't have to go