Midnight Asphalt

The track opens with a vintage soul-sample pitch-bent high

(Prada did it...) Yeah.

Look. Radar detector on the dash,

table for two at Carbone.

Sorry officer, I promise that the motor's stock.

They thought I was just rapping till the backend cleared.

Listen. Whale calls, if we're talking commas,

let me stretch the room B58 under the hood,

I make the turbo bloom He's a shark on the 'Net,

but never wet his feet Gapped the M5 with a laptop in

the passenger seat Three months of rent,

I just dumped it all in a Sprite State trooper hit the

lights, now I'm taking flight White collar crimes,

got three accountants on the payroll Fake Matty Boy from Grailed,

boy your clothes are old Pouring up a three of Tris just

to hydrate Plug sent the drop with no pin,

it’s a blind date How you got a check but still asking

for shit on credit?

I make thirty bands a week,

don't care if the radio play it.

What's a Ford Fusion to a Porsche 911?

I was fourteen breaking down plates,

now I'm selling out sections Mailed a bad batch of chickens,

they came home to roost 800 horses,

Ali Gle tuned up the boost Run the point like VanVleet,

she want a plan with me Made her hit up Walgreens,

pay for the Plan B Walked out with a clean eight,

skipped the line entirely SOS system malfunction,

don't look at the map I got jackboys on call,

they don't even rap Took an eight-ounce to the seal,

feeling vicious You crying in a Honda,

my dashboard delicious. Mickey Thompson tires about to paint the avenue

Account overdrawn ten thousand,

I don't care about the revenue Brake check a state trooper out

in Los Angeles Had to dip on the state ref,

they can't handle us Gucci on my body,

walking Harlem like I’m Dapper Dan My boys won't even shake your

hand, they just execute the plan Two life sentences hidden in an

800-horse motor Squeezing the lane,

I just left the scent of burning odor Heard he asked twenty-five

grand for the old Wraith I just dropped eighty on a Formatic,

keep the pace Real team captain,

sending kites to the jail cells We oversold the whole batch,

gotta lie to my whales.

Yeah. Hood politician. Tell 'em turn the bass up till the trunk

vibrates.

No traction. We out.

(bleep bleep) (psshh)