Slow Down Turbo

(الألبوم: The Sailor - 2019)

(Red Lamborghini, red Lamborghini)
(Autumn, Autumn)
(Light, light, light, light)
I ain't got no red Lamborghini and I ain't a model
Stars on my TV, I ain't got in color
I ain't got no red Lamborghini, no bubbles in my bottle
Damn, this is easy, but baby, I'm gon' run 'em
Let me, uh, shoot my shit real quick

When I shoot, ayy, they gon' get a top fade, ooh
She bad, and she always tryna rendezvous
Speak the truth, keep it 3K like I'm Andre
Can't relate to this, guess we grew 'round different things, man
When I shoot, ayy, they gon' get a top fade
This ain't horizontal, why you looking at me sideways?
Told the venue pay me stocks, I'm feeling like Beyoncé
I won't ever quit, I was born to be the shit, ayy
Uh, how's it feel?
Been through ups and downs and they still ask me, "How's it feel?"
Face is hurting from the smiles, it's time to keep it real
I been in the booth like, "Who the fuck I gotta kill?"

Slow down, 'cause you're moving too fast for the world
You're gonna miss out
Slow down, 'cause you're moving too fast for the world
You're gonna miss out

Winter jacket on me, I love when it's cold out
Act so tough, tell me what you really know 'bout
Closed-eyed chronicles, slow ride carnivals, no lines audible
Your girl, my girl, it's all the same when she swallowing
Aim my dick and I shoot her abdominals
My shit dope, always get people wondering
Your mirror broke 'cause it saw what's in front of it
Walking 'round, I'm feeling like a fully-loaded weapon
I just gave you dick, girl, why do you keep asking for a present?
Acting hella fed up, bitch, I'm never giving no more credits
And my credit card ain't set up, send me money through the FedEx
Everybody sleeping on me, ain't nobody tryna get up
I just bought another mirror, hope I see somebody better
I don't wanna play no game, lil' bitch, I'm on another level
See me at the bakery, I'm tryna get my fucking bread up
Serve it with some mozzarella, dripping on you mothafuckas
You gon' need to buy umbrellas, you gon' see me at Coachella
Fuck your mothafucking head up, she looking like Cinderella
Man, your girl is getting wetter, we about to go meta

(Ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy)

Hold 50 bands, been on road like 50 days
I got hella songs inside the vault that I already made
Yeah, we gon' deliver this in five business days
I sell shows like my fucking name Billy Mays
These hoes all around me fake, they all Vinny Chase
Your girl already know the Wi-Fi at my place
I called her December, she drove in the rain
She got banned from Uber, she drove the minivan