Big Sean - Ol' Skool Pontiac lyrics

[Hook x2 - Jeremih] Yeah, I'm in my ol' skool Pontiac, sippin on that Cognac Tint black, sit back, b**h, that Cognac n***as get to talkin what they talkin, they be all of that Runnin 'round the city someone tell me where the party at [Verse 1 - Jeremih] I'ma get this paper, like I did before Say you feelin low, go on and hit the dro Cruisin like I'm aimless, n***as famous and I got the dough I'm a star, so let me shine, n***a, mountain glow Yeah, I ain't stuntin in this b**h Say you hurtin, yeah that's sad, but I'm fine in this b**h Did that song with Fab, but now it's my time in this b**h Not into the X-Games, but I grind in this b**h Yeah, think it's fair, think again Plenty ones, couple fives, stack the tens Got the tree, break it down, keep the stems By yourself? Hell naw, bring a friend n***a I be on that sh** that ya'll ain't heard of Girl you know your man down, tell me what you scared of? Gon and lift your skirt up I know we usually cruisin in the Beamer kinda tired of the Rover So you probably catch me leanin in my [Hook x2] [Verse 2 - Big Sean] Okay, I'm rollin o-o-o-o-ozo, boi I'm dumb high, I'm dumb high Yeah, n***a, Westside, b**h, I run my Ho slow it down like I got my thumb high And I got her on her knees like I got my gun high I'm in my old school, I feel like the alumni Wishing we could trade cars, comin from the underground Cause b**h, I'm working grave yard Car lookin like its sittin on thirty floors, thirty doors, thirty who*es Few black b**hes and Fergie who*es, n***a this sh** look like Jersey Shore I'm on fire b**h, a loose cannon My car's Bruce Wayne, I feel like Bruce Banner Rip her clothes off, car so big gonna whip that sh** Don't stand too close when I hit them curbs Motherf**er might clip them toes off B-I-G, I'm that important You spend all day with her spooning I spend all night with her forking in my ol' skool [Hook x2] [Verse 3 - Paul Wall] I'm in a old-school American-made, built in Michigan Squeezin that wood grain, my fingers keep on blisterin Haters keep on whispering, talking down and snickering Cause my name the one the boppers and groupies keep on mentioning Range Rover, Bentley, and Benz, I've done em all But I'd rather flip a JFK Lincoln on white walls My motto is grind hard, and paper sure to follow Philosophy for Franklins is something like Aristotle Double cup filled to the top, so drive slow In the '59 Bonneville with the bumper hanging low I cruise through the Chi and hit MacArthur's for the munchies My slab is candy pomegranate, I guess I'm country Coming straight out of Texas where the old schools rule Take notes on how I slab, professional act-a-fool in a ol' skool [Hook x2]