GT Performer

(album: George Kush Da Button: Dont Pass Trump The Blunt - 2016)

[Action Bronson:]
It's me, it's me
Uh, yeah

I got the big bag of Skittles, like Marshawn Lynch
No matter what, we never far from a bench
Never far from a stoop, never far from a hallway
Never far from a main street, never far from a Broadway
Uh, we say fuck what the Law say
Yeah, I pay the white piano on a beach
Trying to reach a higher place
I know there's more out there then just us, right?
So when I fuck, I try to make a doctor with this left nut
Or the world's greatest opera singer
Contribute something to this Earth before I leave it
And come back as some other motherfucker named Steven
From New Zealand
That don't smoke trees; you know that I'm a fiend
That's not gonna work; I hope it's just a dream, shit
There's shark on the menu
As I embark on this mission, to go cop haze
From 1-7-3 and Audubeezy
Five-hundred dimes, Body stashing by the pee-pee
Six-hundred pounds combined
Stuffed like peppers in a Z-three
I used to ride the pegs on a GT Performer

[Smoke DZA:]
Back of a GT Perfomer

[Green R. Fieldz:]
I burn wood, can't use no pussy heat to warm my chow with
Sleeping on us, then we pinning back your fucking eyelids
If you don't wanna taste my food, then I'm fucking wild'n
I'm trying to get to the millions, what you speak on is childish
Big Lebowski with a pistol and a purpose
Open it up and stitch it back just like a surgeon
My plant size and structure'll leave you wordless
Chain-smoking Skittles like I'm nervous
Your tree is worthless
Hottest strain in the game, I know you heard it
But still in the lab on some nerd shit
They used to label me a drug lord
Hundred packs in hot summers
I put up 'em in hands, now I got a brand
And we made it look easy
So when I say that I did it, these motherfuckers don't believe me
I talk shit, but still 'bout that action, like Bronson
And never let 'em do me like they did Nucky Thompson
Word

[Smoke DZA:]
Back of a GT Perfomer
Uh, smoking some strong marijuana
Right

Uh, I'm sick with the grammar, the Harlem glamour
The boys try to slander, I'm hater-proof with the banter
Laundry bag fulls of P's like I'm Santa
Green thumb, green hand, like I'm Bruce Banner
Keep my homie close, he a loose cannon
I'm duecey slamming them shots back
In the gambling spot, 'laxed
Ramblin 'Pac raps
The highest nigga breathing, in some Y-3 boots
Your whole style see-through
Keep it a hundred is what you hardly do
Shit, I'm godly, dude
On my '80s Heavy Metal, bumping Mötley Crüe
Mix the Skittle with the Cookie, no Taraji
Level I'm on, you'll never get here, even with Bosley
Too sweet in my [?], they think it's Illuminati
They ain't even seen Hall & Nash probably
The room cloudy
Bad bitch, I'mma pipe her like Rowdy Rowdy
Shit, this bud got me drowsy

Back of a GT Perfomer
Uh, smoking some strong marijuana
Some strong marijuana