The Cool Kids - Rush Hour Traffic lyrics
[The Cool Kids - Rush Hour Traffic lyrics]
We get long, let them trunks lift up
Ay ay
We all know Mikey aka the Great Estaré
Banco Populair
Looking rare homie, what's the skit
So you could holla at me if you want me If you don't
Keep it rollin' don't be droppin' names like a ton of bricks
I'm in the '96 SL5
But ain't nothin' on that badboy
The button stick when I be unlockin' it
So I grabbed the cutless keys
Like a Fuckin' thief
Take a sweet
Gut it, stuff it then we puff it babyy
The Baileys, mixed with Grandma ye'
See we callin' it the "Grandmama"
See, just like the Larry Johnson kinds
In the huddle with the Bubble goose down
Downtime spent working on my rhyme schemes
Them alpines hit like a young rocky
A skinny dude but I'm
Eating like I'm stocky
Bucket seats 70's challengers
For the amateurs
This is for them Regals
Granddaddy's cutlesses
Stuck-in-town vehicles
The speakers gon' love it
The trucks is all low like
I talked about his mother
Drivin' around slow
Like there's an accident or somethin'
Ssssskkkkkurrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Diggin' the dumps, cigar guts into anything
Piggy bank change couldn't break
If the ground shake
Earthquake shake and San Andres fault
First-place trophy is the only
To race in them
Talk to me dawg, please don't talk at me
I thought I saw the credits runnin
On with all that acting
Wass happenin'
Surely {shurly?}
Rerun
See me with it now like
They gotta get theirs tomorrow
Ferrari's naaaa
Phantoms nope!
Triple gold spokes on them Lincoln town cars
Like back when I was driving to the
Mall where that Circuit City was
Gotta get this installed
That flip face touch screen remote
Control and all that
Bass treble biz
And it smells like a loud pack
Strawberry air freshners to mix
With the scent
Shooting free throws for the win
Ay ay
We all know Mikey aka the Great Estaré
Banco Populair
Looking rare homie, what's the skit
So you could holla at me if you want me If you don't
Keep it rollin' don't be droppin' names like a ton of bricks
I'm in the '96 SL5
But ain't nothin' on that badboy
The button stick when I be unlockin' it
So I grabbed the cutless keys
Like a Fuckin' thief
Take a sweet
Gut it, stuff it then we puff it babyy
The Baileys, mixed with Grandma ye'
See we callin' it the "Grandmama"
See, just like the Larry Johnson kinds
In the huddle with the Bubble goose down
Downtime spent working on my rhyme schemes
Them alpines hit like a young rocky
A skinny dude but I'm
Eating like I'm stocky
Bucket seats 70's challengers
For the amateurs
This is for them Regals
Granddaddy's cutlesses
Stuck-in-town vehicles
The speakers gon' love it
The trucks is all low like
I talked about his mother
Drivin' around slow
Like there's an accident or somethin'
Ssssskkkkkurrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Diggin' the dumps, cigar guts into anything
Piggy bank change couldn't break
If the ground shake
Earthquake shake and San Andres fault
First-place trophy is the only
To race in them
Talk to me dawg, please don't talk at me
I thought I saw the credits runnin
On with all that acting
Wass happenin'
Surely {shurly?}
Rerun
See me with it now like
They gotta get theirs tomorrow
Ferrari's naaaa
Phantoms nope!
Triple gold spokes on them Lincoln town cars
Like back when I was driving to the
Mall where that Circuit City was
Gotta get this installed
That flip face touch screen remote
Control and all that
Bass treble biz
And it smells like a loud pack
Strawberry air freshners to mix
With the scent
Shooting free throws for the win