Monte Carlo Music

Eight cylinders, two doors
A back seat nobody can sit in
No rust on my door hinges;
There'll be no squeakin' when I get in
Spent a few dollars
To ride a old school Monte Carlo without a problem
Reliable as my newer whip, homeboy-
I Really do this shit
No tint on my windows:
Hella high with nothin' to hide
Pirelli tires clingin' for dear life
Them rims wide, my nigga
Four cars, one summer
Still east-side Spitta frontin'-
Like you don't remember
Had them rims matchin';
That was way back then-
2002-knowing who I was...
But I didn't know you
The fuck you talking 'bout
In that shit cruiser
That you're dragging through the parking lot?
'87 Aerocoupe-I had that-targa tops
The King Arthur of the Car Club
Trophies tall as your oldest kid;
Place them next to my Switchblade 86
Your girl asked to take pictures leaning on it
Made you sick
Floor shifting. A true SS
Not a clone with bootleg ground effects-
Leave that shit at home
Authentic- the description of all things Spitta
Roll a joint for my oil change niggas in fifteen minutes
Take two pulls, let my bitch hit it

Doing a hundred in the eighty-fo'
It's that monte carlo music, trillest shit I ever drove