Suzuki Peaches

What you want, nigga?
 Man, I need that fuckin' 449cc shit my nigga
 That four stroke (ok)
 Five speed, nigga (five speed)
 Straight out the Suzuki catalog, you feel me?
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 Halo
 Fire it up
 Lighten it up, yeah, woo!
 And it look like peaches in motion
 On that side street we burning the ashphalt
 It's my fault
 I turned fast
 My bad
 Straight from the catalog (straight out the catalog)
 You don't want a honda
 You don't want a Yamaha
 Suzuki
 Twisting ballerina
 Whistle ocarina
 That extendo seater (speed)
 Spike like cowboy bebop
 Yeah that rubber heat up
 Baby can you keep up? Can you? Can you?
 Red handles, ooh la la (he got the red joints)
 Red handles, ooh la la
 Red handles, ooh la la (he got the red joints)
 Red handles (yes sir)
 And when the paint job chip
 It is what it is
 It is what it is
 It is what it is
 I try not to
 Think about it too much
 Try not to
 I'm not tripping
 I'm not thinking about when we
 Copped that
 Take it to a shop for a paint job
 You said you like apricot
 I'm like nah, can't do that
 Need that atomic tangerine
 That glossy, that candy
 And it look like peaches in motion
 On that side street we cut up, cut up
 Baby Napalm
 Firecracker
 Just because
 I'll open up for you
 For you
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 Big talk, sike
 Little talk, siding with the rush
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 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)
 (Na-na-na-na-na-na-na, na na na)