64' Impala - Murs, Fashawn

The cannon, he tucked it

Underneath his banana republic

Hit your man out in public

Understand he was thugging

Pitching grams you was hustling

He ain’t scramble for nothing

Knew how to handle a onion

Done with nickel and dimin'

He was getting cosignment

Kept a chick in the climate

Wanted a '64 Impala

Had a clique that was solid

Wouldn’t snitch on his rivals

But his bitch was unloyal

Ran her lips to the five-o

Takes a sip from the bottle

Fills a clip up with hollows

Grips on his pistol then he dips with his rollows

They on a mission for murder, but all he want is the paper

In the Chevy smoking heavy Hennessy with no chase

Started of small-time 'till the kid graduated

To a contract killer, jacking niggas for Daytons

After he got his rims, got his whip candy-painted

Few weeks later he’s sitting at his arraignment for a

'64 Impala, '64 Impala

All I wanted was a '64 Impala

Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala

Sitting on Daytons, on a mission for dollars

In my '64 Impala, '64 Impala

All I wanted was a '64 Impala

Fuck a 600 Benz, give me a '64 Impala

Sitting on datents, on a mission for dollars

No matter where you from, the goal has always been

To have a '64 Impala, motherfuck a Benz

Want them hundred spokes, not them low pros

I’m fucking with my folks, they got them low-lows

A '96 is dope, a '64 is classic

We might just stop to make that motherfucker hop in traffic

You see the double S, it’s like a turbo jet

Free rolling candy, now watch us serve your set

You ain’t seen nothing yet, we waiting on the other half

My baby floating over asphalt like a hover-craft

She over 40, bro, but ain’t over the hills

She stay down for me, so I know that it’s real

So much chrome in the grill, she lighting up the sky

You rolling up on me, but motherfucker, why

New pumps with a ten switch box

You about to get embarrassed while your friends just watch, nigga

Only in California