Jeremih, Big Sean, Paul Wall - Ol' Skool Pontiac lyrics

Yeah, I'm in my ol’ skool Pontiac
Sippin on that Cognac
Tint black, sit back, bitch, that Cognac
Niggas get to talkin what they talkin
They be all of that
Runnin 'round the city someone tell
Me where the party at

I’ma get this paper, like I did before
Say you feelin low, go on and hit the dro
Cruisin like I’m aimless
Niggas famous and I got the dough
I’m a star, so let me shine, nigga
Mountain glow
Yeah, I ain't stuntin in this bitch
Say you hurtin, yeah that's sad
But, I’m fine in this bitch
Did that song with Fab
But now it's my time in this bitch
Not into the X-Games
But, I grind in this bitch
Yeah, think it's fair, think again
Plenty ones, couple fives, 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 ain't 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
Beamer kinda tired of the Rover
So you probably catch me leanin in my

Yeah, I'm in my ol’ skool Pontiac
Sippin on that Cognac
Tint black, sit back, bitch, that Cognac
Niggas get to talkin what they talkin
They be all of that
Runnin 'round the city someone tell
Me where the party at

Okay, I’m rollin o-o-o-o-ozo, boi
I’m dumb high, I’m dumb high
Yeah, nigga, Westside, bitch, I run my
Ho 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
Wishing we could trade cars
Comin from the underground
Cause bitch, I’m working grave yard
Car lookin like it's 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 car's Bruce Wayne
I feel like Bruce Banner
Rip her clothes off
Car so big gonna whip that shit
Don’t stand too close when I hit them curbs
Motherfucker might clip them toes off
B-IG, I’m that important
You spend all day with her spooning
I spend all night with her
Forking in my ol' skool

Yeah, I'm in my ol’ skool Pontiac
Sippin on that Cognac
Tint black, sit back, bitch, that Cognac
Niggas get to talkin what they talkin
They be all of that
Runnin 'round the city someone tell
Me where the party at

I'm in a old-school American made
Built in Michigan squeezin that wood grain
My fingers keep on blisterin
Haters keep on whispering
Talking down and snickering
Cause my name the one the 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
And paper sure to follow
Philosophy for Franklins is
Something like Aristotle
Double cup filled to the top, so drive slow
In the ’59 Bonneville with
The bumper hanging low
I cruise through the Chi and
Hit MacArthur's for the munchies
My slab is candy pomegranate
I guess I'm country
Coming straight out of Texas where
The old schools rule
Take notes on how I slab
Professional act-a-fool in a ol' skool

Yeah, I'm in my ol’ skool Pontiac
Sippin on that Cognac
Tint black, sit back, bitch, that Cognac
Niggas get to talkin what they talkin
They be all of that
Runnin 'round the city someone tell
Me where the party at