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Cruising in my six four, damn, I got a sick flow Cruising in my six four, damn, I got a sick flow Cruising in my six four, you know I got a sick flow Asking where I'm headed to, asking what they asking for Album full of hits, pocket full of bits Bag full of green, mouth full of swish Ear full of chronic gable, head full of dead cells Cat full of afro, hand full of steering wheel Cruise passed the bus stop, two miles and out Air condition blow with the windows rolled down And I turn it up 'cause the speakers full of bass And I pull down the top 'cause the air's full of grape With a head full of cockiness, backseat full of hoes Clip full of BBC, backpack full of clothes Neck full of gold ropes, ear full of diamonds Woke up from the dream, I ain't even got my license Shit Cruising in my six four, damn, I got a sick flow Cruising in my six four, you know I got a sick flow Cruising in my six four, damn, I got a sick flow Asking where I'm headed to, asking what they asking for What they asking for, what they fuck they asking for Fuck they asking for From Letras Mania