Taylor Gang Lyrics

< Go Back

Wiz Khalifa - Pedal to the Medal


Cool
Blue ice
Things never looked this nice

Verse 1
It's the life we live, it's the price we pay
400 to zip, imperial rosay
Black diamonds in all of my whips, timeless
Vow to never break your heart or a promise; I got us.

Ain't a sharp, just bein honest
You wanna sip mamosas? I'll pour em. Take a trip, we could blow a few dollas
Other bitches you heard about 'em,
But you movin forward and never backwards

Coped shorty a quarter, let her roll it up for practice.
Let her roleplay, you studyin to be a actress
What the happs is, imma call you later
Then I'll follow through, maybe we could all get faded.

And I'm one hundred them others tryna fake it,
Self made G millionaire in the makin.
Boss on my team, Bringin home the bacon.
Ya nigga fallin off, you need a replacement: face it.

Chorus
Let me buy you a drink, carry in the bottle
Girl you look good, and your mommy is a model
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah

So lets go to the crib, curly gonna follow
pedal to the medal, everything full throttle
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah

Verse 2
The money come in, the money go
The same scene seem to pertain to them corny hoes.
So, I keep it G.
Continually stack this paper while all them bitches chase me

Won't be your net or your safety,
Bitch can't hold herself down, then she down to drizown
We party in Vegas, smokin, Pina Colada, papers
Travel the world people know when our face is.

Waitress bringin them by the cases
For me and my real niggas, we not in the Matrix
I'm talkin plain shit, that shit you have to join the game with
Could probably make you leave your man

For first class livin, takin pictures in the sand
Hundred thousand dollar whips, shoppin trips to Japan.
Uh uh...So you rollin if you know like I know,
Them niggas don't go where I go. Gangsta.

Chorus
Let me buy you a drink, carry in the bottle
Girl you look good, and your mommy is a model
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah

So lets go to the crib, curly gonna follow
pedal to the medal, everything full throttle
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah

Verse 3
Okay.
Mommy I fucks with you, borderline stuck with you
I roll up, hit the airport and stunt with you.
Count all his bread, maybe split a cut with you,
No respect for niggas who smoke blunts with you.

All wins, No loss.
Big house, Mowed lawn.
No lease, own cars,
Straight work, I'm my own boss.

Chorus
Let me buy you a drink, carry in the bottle
Girl you look good, and your mommy is a model
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah

So lets go to the crib, curly gonna follow
pedal to the medal, everything full throttle
oooh yeeeeeeah yeah
yeah yeeeeeeah yeah