LYRICS

Yo, squad is on the block
When you see 'em, never run, my nigga, walk
Only the guilty run for cover
Like Egyptian cotton thousand count, pharaoh swag
Police running up on me
Tryna search all in my Louis bag
All they found is money, money, money
Money, no evidence
I told 'em put the cuffs on me, arrest me for being fresh
They might find eight new watches, but no eight ball
I serve and protect my dick
My kicks hate y'all
Courtside tickets, only time I see a judge
Rev telling me pull my feet in, I see him but never budge
I am out here, fits on a thousand out of one to ten
Most of it is custom mode, the rest our points recommend
It's a lonely life, my daily attire intimidates
International fresh, you think I'm rolling with yellow plates
Most of what you see me in, black America replicates
They cannot pronounce it, only option is to speculate
My pieces are walling, my trousers were not domesticate
Foreign material cause and customs to investigate
Bloggers and socialites, questioning, trying to authenticate
Looking for a logo, on all your Polo I defecate
What you think it costs add a thousand to your estimate
Kenny Skywalker watching my collection elevate
When my clothes touch the skiing, the value appreciates
Street boys, all couture, Paris cannot regulate

Ill, so ill
Ill, so ill

But when you see me I'm fresh
Head to toe fresh
Told you he fresh
Head to toe fresh

Alright, people dying for Jordans
Jordan dying of laughter though
You just spent your last three bills hustling backwards, yo
Living at your mama crib with ten pairs of jammies
No pot to piss in, but your kick's a different category
Graduated from Spelman but can't spell remedy
Fat lady singing but you ignoring the melody
Camped out overnight for the new easy
Money's on E but your ego is screaming feed me!
Bill collector calling while you surfing on ice kicks
IRS is on your Instagram looking through high pics
Eight stamps, showing that you bought them joints last week
Served with legal papers this morning so now you can't sleep
You owe 20,000 but you spent that on your closet, boy
Last year you was atheist, now you praying for profits, boy
Real stories of kids in North America
Dope's on the radio but death's what they selling y'all

Ill, so ill
Ill, yes, my nigga, that's ill

But when you see me I'm fresh
Head to toe fresh
Told you he fresh
Head to toe fresh

Alright
Fresh

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