Uh
Jet, ****, now where haven't we?
Taylor Gang, stay rolling up them paper planes
(Yeah) Jets, ****, now where we haven't we?
And I'm trying to get Grease to smoke joints, man
Trying to convert him to EZ Widers or Zig-Zags
Before I get back to New Orleans
(Uh) How fly (Yeah)
Uh, same **** that I always been
Mets hat with green under the brim
I shop in bulk, my closet a vault
Getting dressed, sipping Rosé, OJ like pulp
Looking like myself in my old Easter photos
Socks and my rugby is Polo
Stop, freeze, on three's my low, low
Airplanes, dollar signs on tees, my logo
Kush smoking circles in my dojo
Sneaker collector, I bring 'em out, kid
Kicks all over the crib, roundhouses
Uh, fuck you talking 'bout, Willis?
You bitch fucking with Spitta 'cause she like her stroke different
Celebrate the moments of your life
We party all night (Uh), smoke all day
Breakfast in the airport, get drunk the whole flight (Ye)
This is how we do
Everyday chase money, make bitches chase you
****, this is how we do
Race to the club, hop out and the valet the coupes
****, this is how we do
Under the shade of the good trees, we stay cool
(Ye) Ye, and if the bitch can't roll weed
No need to bring her through
I had a dream that I was smoking California weed
And brother, I tell her, give me what I need
Pull up in car service, flying private when I leave
I'm chilling, two pretty women who speaking Japanese, ****, please
I'm selling out concerts, some five-o-one pants that sag
Zig zags and my Converse
Spitta to my left, let him hit the bong first
Lame **** asked if he get a hit
Little do we know that's a guaranteed way to get skipped
I find beautiful women and politic
Waking up, still drunk, feeling sick
I'ma smoke one with you, roll another one for the whip
Listening to my brand new shit
My doors suicide, though my trees big chop provided
Fly societe, and Taylor Gang or get hanged
Smoking weed with your bitches
When she told you she would never do it again
This is how we do
Everyday chase money, make bitches chase you
****, this is how we do
Race to the club, hop out and the valet the coupes
****, this is how we do
Under the shade of the good trees, we stay cool
(Yeah) Yeah, and if the bitch can't roll weed
No need to bring her through

Writer(s): Wiz Khalifa & Shante Franklin.