New Coupe, Who Dis? Smino (Ft. Mick Jenkins)

[Intro: Smino]
Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me
Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, talk to me
Okay—don't talk to me, don't talk to me, don't talk to me

[Chorus: Smino]
Voulez-vous cou', we cut like filet mignon
Shia Lebouf, give me nothin' but gold
Cold bitch, she wet, Lake Michigan
Fully loaded quesadilla, I work like a Mexican
Bad lil' hoe, yo trabajo
Ain't got a lotta tick, can't talk right now
I pull up (creepin'), new coupe (beamin'), who dis? (schemin')
Watchin' TV in the headrest (this is automatic), lay down
I pull up (creepin'), new coupe (Bimmer), who dis? (schemin')
Watchin' TV in the headrest (what your lil ass be watchin'?), lay down

[Verse 1: Mick Jenkins]
Killing these niggas stylistically is a crack rock for 'em
He speak facts with the Caps Lock on
Hit 'em in the purse, I know that's where it hurts worst
Excuse my language, I know the truth sound like curse words
Excuse my singing, I know that I may sound like hurt birds
All of these C-notes, lazy eye, fly plaid shirt, he look like Deebo
Lift a brick, came up out the dirt with my people
Ignorant, only 'cause you looking through a peephole
And I could peep game
You 'gon need some ski poles, tryna dig through these flows
Could avalanche, but refrain
What the fuck's a co-sign? That sound like a new fan
Fam I been in this shit you acting like I just grew hands
Grip that bitch with two hands and blow off a limb in this bitch
Space coupe, I feel like Invader Zim in this bitch
Pulled up in the black on black, silk wrap like a new perm
Ten percent tints, hope twelve don't U-turn
Way too much piff in these G-star
Lowkey, pullin' strings, niggas speak bass guitar
Smino hit the sweet-talk, Mrs. Officer