A Beach On Mars
[Verse 1: Kurt Hazard]
Yeah… aye
Thumbing straight cash
Coco butter colored Maybach￼
Polo with the lemonade Raf’s
Heavyweight class
Serving niggas heavyweight gas
Swerving in the heather grey jag
Got the leather face mask
The rumor’s that the renegade’s back
And no this ain’t no Em and Jay track ￼
We got weapons aimed at
The opposition, let the K slap
It’s singing like an Ella Mai track
Detonate fast, hit gas, let it screech
That ain’t my concern niggas mad cause of me
Everything is all fun and games so it seems
Till a nigga wanna step up in the ring with a best
Good grief, sheesh, me oh my
I done hopped up in the Benz from the 309
Keep a 30 with a beam niggas scheme on mine
Ya shawty on me cause she know that I’m that b-o-y... lil bi
[Verse 2: Anferno]
Bitch I am a cult leader
They got die for my B sides
Lil thang so bad had to hit from the behind
I like a queen bee I don’t want no beehive
She dip her toe in I hang in the deep side
She said she wanting me deep in her insides
Enigma arousing her don’t mean to entice
She said it’s calling her, fate done decided
I’m a whole problem like bitch are you riding
Imma go down on that bitch if she riding
Flawless lil bitch I’m so flawless
I’m wyling a rebel, like bitch I’m so lawless
Take caution, get popped bitch if you outta pocket
My niggas will kill you head on my pockets

[Verse 3: Paris Michael]
Skinny lil nigga from the 312
With the rick owen boots on the feet, I do
I got a bad lil bitch look like Mila Ku
And ill never have my girl in no fila shoes
I got 100 in my pants and the Alyx too
And the rain on my frame make you sneeze, achoo
Got Mariah Carey Diamonds on my collarbone
Please check where your girl is, cus she not at home
Yeah you see the stripes on the pants, yeah its Prada homme
Can’t be sad in Céline nigga, you not alone
In my pocket is a .99 boy that’s not a phone
But I let it ring on a nigga like I’m not at home
And the crib like the alamo, ghost like I'm Ella Mai
Darker than Allen Poe, raven on my dinner plate
Pause for the metaphor, all my dinner plans
Broke rappers couldn’t buy a fan, or a ceiling fan
I don’t usually rap like this, but Kurt asked me
I don’t need to Mary a shorty to tote Ashleys
And when I wanna wear some shit, we don’t ask
We just pull up in that bitch and leave with four bags
Beat running out and I stepped out the lane
All dark whip like the shit raising Bane
And when this song drop and it pop in the game
PM lil nigga that’s my muhfucking name lil bitch