Farm to Table (feat. VIC MENSA)

Ayy, bad -ch on my arm, and she's so it, uh Smoke straight from the farm, and you know this Ayy, Reposado to sip, how much I pour ya? She in the Oscar de la Renta, I might have to De La Hoya Call my lawyer, don't even ask me -Ga, I came fashionably late, our style was Condé Nast That Pyrex with tight neck, swallow my breath Hers was more of an architectural digest, I digress with our chest We both get to speakin' our minds, all kind of interior designs Superior grapes from inferior vines Switchin' time zones, these is curious times It's loose noodles, no furious spoons Forget the waves if I could bury the moon, I mean Shh, is gettin' very cartoon I keep this bad -ch on my arm, and she's so it, uh Smoke straight from the farm, I know you know this No boat made our own waves, you hot or cold, no lukewarm Can't have nobody foldin' more coat hangers my way No low-hangin' fruit here I palm trees to the face, won't speak hate to my face Y'all on some h- sh- Bad -ch on my arm, and she's so it (I smoke my own shi', man, what's it called? 93 Boyz) Smoke straight from the farm, and you know this (oh, you ain't heard?) Uh-huh, this sh- from farm to table Had to run it up, I never harmed an ankle And a distribution chain so major, I could start a label We done got the 93 Boyz hotter than Coral Gables Sometimes I wish I could take a weekend off, but I'm hardly able Louis Vuitton liaisons, the Pyer Moss, outta reach of the D.A.'s arms At Paris Fashion Week, far precedin' you rappers even havin' seats It's an Amoako Boafo, the shit a masterpiece, I'm fine arts' Master P (uh) Sidebar Kassius Kayne, my large bag of dreams My daddy went Yankee, his son slangin' gasoline A million in the first three months (damn) That's like two billion streams, we blowin' up like Israel did to Philistines Gaza Strip, mobbin' through Bethlehem, and I'm rockin' Ricks They been owin' us for the way they plundered the continent Got the world buyin' plane tickets off of my Ghana trips I been walkin' it, my -ga, now let me talk my sh- Bad - on my arm, and she's no bit- (uh, woo) 93 from the farm, I smoke my own sh-, yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah