Lyrics Jim Jones – Sports Cars

Jim Jones:
Dipset
Mighty Money set
These are all the things that

Uh, uh
Jealously and admiration run neck and neck (Facts)
Man, these boys say they lit but livin’ check to check (That’s crazy)
We on that big boy yacht, come with an extra deck
I pump ‘caine into my chambers, lookin’ extra wet (Water)
Say less, nigga, stay blessed (Facts)
I’m from Harlem where all we know is how to stay fresh (Drippin’)
Twenty years later, a few connects that I ain’t paid yet (Fuck it)
And since a youngin, the old heads said I’m a straight threat (That’s me)
In front the buildin’, the forty-five inside my grey sweats (Eh eh)
Where uncle Cecil and Goldfinger was in the grey Lex
My cousin Tye the first to show that black and grey TEC
I’m on the same shit, I keep a forty in my grey Teks (You hear me?)
Some extra points will cost me, solar bay sweat
And even checkers got kings but I’d rather play chess (Now listen, dawg)
I jump a nigga then I take over
I left the watch inside the beauty parlor for a makeover (Make up)
Tell the kitties we tired of the play-play
Thirty in the forty, a hundred shots inside the AK (Ate that up)
Shit, don’t make me do the races like I’m Tay-K

Curren$y:
Sports car outside the crib (Outside the crib)
Snipers on the roof, nigga, looky here
Different bitches, different coupes through the years (Through the years)
The proof that I’m the truth is that I’m still here (That I’m still here)

We riders, East Siders, wild drivers
I sent them young sliders ’round your block
Nigga, don’t come out your house
You broke, homie, so my name should never come out of your mouth
The subject money and you don’t know what you talkin’ ’bout
Subtract dummies, my big homies love to take you out
You see lowriders front your bitch, bruh, she mine now
Jet Life, tattoos, show you what she ’bout
Moves made, nigga, we just tryna stay paid
You just tryna get laid, me and you is not the same
Word to the bird, VVS’s in the wings
I just stepped off the plane in puddles of champagne
On another move, another album drop
Another tour done, another coupe to cop
Another helicopter landin’ on the roof, I’m hoppin’ out
Another strain, a nigga makin’ a killin’ off that pot
And it don’t stop
No brakes on the Wraith and I’m gon’ drive
Nigga, straight to the cake, another slice
Laid on the Gucci plate, hella ice and more ice
Can’t see the time or the date

Sports car outside the crib (Outside the crib)
Snipers on the roof, nigga, looky here
Different bitches, different coupes through the years (Through the years)
The proof that I’m the truth is that I’m still here (That I’m still here)

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