text: Destination: remote
  We done been everywhere
  Only thing we aint traveled
  Is time 
  The boy record smell like bleach
  I can travel where I want
  Im accustomed clearin customs
  It aint custom, I dont come
  Flee the bird to the truck
  I scream, Au revoir, to the stewardess
  Border control asking stupid shit
  Stayin at home, I hate
  Runaway love, but Im no Ludacris
  Sippin on mint tea, take my shoes off
  Then we take off, then I snooze off
  Until I land where Im foreign
  Then I wake up, wipe the drool off
  Got my passport in my weekend
  Ima cool off, get a sweet tan
  Loafers filled with beach sand
  Recline til its time to peace sign
  Fuck all the chains and the cars, get a passport
  See the world, open your eyes til your back hurt
  Niggas get bread and wont leave, shit is backwards
  Start with your feet, then a car, then an airport
  Get out your bubble gum
  Blow up horizons, sun
  Sled in the Alps or go tube in Missoula
  Or tour in Japan or go scuba in Cuba
  Or land in a borough, Jerrod got the brioche
  Ciabatta in Como, it matches my peacoat
  Oversee the sea, all the things that you could see
  Like them languages I speak, out in Paris for a week
  Take my nephews out to Nice, they like Who? Im like, Oui, ha
  We on a safari
  Legendary 
  World-renowned
  Globally recognized
  Catch us if you can 
  Are you keepin up? 
  Once in a lifetime 
  This what it sounds like when the moon and the sun collide
  Speakin matter-of-factly 
  Were just light years ahead 
  Yeah
  Every car retarded, the garage look like a loony bin
  What coupe he in? Depends on the fit and the type of mood he in 
  I been switchin gears since Tracee Ellis Ross was UPN
  Clutch, then he stroke outta nowhere like a droopy grin 
  Huh, took that Grammy home, couldnt lose again
  The suit was so sharp that it could get Medusa coochie trimmed 
  Hov talkin bout a hundred million, nigga, loop me in
  Like who that young, rich, handsome nigga with the gooey skin? 
  Mama named him Tyler and his brothers call him T
  And the bank, they call him when that wire clear like season three or somethin 
  Skateboard named him Bunnyhop, its Baudelaire or Wolfie, though
  The felines named him hour for how long he eat the— wait a minute 
  Pink loafers scuff quickly, Fiat cost a buck sixty
  Ill keep it a buck fifty, yall cant really fuck with me 
  Bitch, I got the fuzz and Ima own it til they bury him
  Only twenty-nine, but Ive been focused since thirty M 
  Wolf
  Call me if you get lost 
  And like that , we gone