Penny Hardaway

Them bally loafers's and them Cardiers

I do my thing Penny Hardaway

And if you're knowing where we're going

Then you'll probably be coming with us!

Friday night nice, Saturday sharp

Edge upon the hairline, side tapered and ball

Sunday winning in the linen shorts sent from the mall

Pieces out the dry cleaning stitched seems and all

And haters ain't ball but this is

Cars hopin in them

Mars bite the bishop and the palace like the Pistons

Peep the way I flipped it

The color on this one is like them other ones

But these colors compliment it

You might wanna catch that later alligator

Maury I had another coming way before they made it

Cordless phones on them like it's free activation

For them homes you wouldend up in the lab for it

Champion [?], wrap bills in jeans fabrics

Since we spend [?] these ropes like tennis rackets

Tennis braclets Andre Agassi tennis shoes and jackets

Cardier frames and bally's

I take my out, slide them up the bridge of my nose

Them Guccis cool, but they are not originals

Those are like digital clocks

Mind shots riddle the block 'till it moves up,

What a loop scooper troopers and khaki suit blazers

And my braclets do a loop and my wrist like a race, Wait!

We ain't say grace

We at Shaw's Crab House

Everybody got a lobster on their plate

I get a nice, nice waves, wait a minute

Slice gang, chop it up, slap chop, I'm saying!

You can't know the roster without playin'

I'm not Kevin Cosner I'm not dancing with no wolves

Acting like they should, Peep the Don hoping out that Jeep

Man the tassels on them Bally's, checkers on the Rally's

Saying I don't think they got it like in Cali"

In my years I sported igloos, Alaskan Ice

The light bulbs in my jewels show off in the night

So stay back, star's flow is toxic

You can catch me in my rolls heavy

Photoshoots in the Sahara Desert Camels and Cardiers

In the sky facing the half-moon crescent

Wow, it looks beautiful

The stars is praising me

And The Cool Kids, say something wrong they'll shoot at you

They shootin' stars these ruthless bars got white girls holding their mouths

Like, "oh my God! No he didn't", give him a bib, cause he keeps spitting

Lines that's so cold where every word's frost-bitten

And his man's pulling up in the Maybach

White linen, three quarter rope, bally's from way back

With Cardier frames, white gold all around the rim

Holding their dicks in the club