Gio pulls up with the M3 shining, Swears he’s focused, says he’s grinding. Wingstop bag sitting in the front seat, Lemon pepper dreams, no ranch on repeat. Girls on his mind, keys in his hand, Talking real smooth like he’s got a whole plan. Not the smartest in the room, that’s true, But charm like Gio? There’s only a few. He says he’s locked in, but is he really? Phone keeps buzzing, acting all silly. One eye on the road, one eye on the chat, Saying, “Who you feeling like?” while he leans back. Gio, Gio, what the FUCCCCK, M3 outside and the wings in the trunk. “Who do you think I am, Bill Gates?” But he still pulls up thirty minutes late. Gio, Gio, we are down bad, Chasing girls like it’s all he ever had. Locked in, locked in, or so he claims, But larping at night in his fantasy games. He got foam swords and a medieval fit, Pulls up to battle like, “Yeah, this is it.” Girls in the chat and he’s losing composure, Wingstop crumbs on the center console. He says, “Who you feeling like?” every five minutes, Acts like a king but his brain ain’t in it. Not doing math, not reading signs, But somehow every girl gives him time. He hates ranch, don’t put it near his plate, Plain wings only, that’s the Gio taste. No dipping sauce, no creamy attack, Offer him ranch and he’s sending it back. He’s not Bill Gates, he made that clear, Still talks money when the M3 near. Parking lot prince with a dangerous smile, Down bad behavior with expensive style. Gio, Gio, what the FUCCCCK, M3 outside and the wings in the trunk. “Who do you think I am, Bill Gates?” But he still pulls up thirty minutes late. Gio, Gio, we are down bad, Chasing girls like it’s all he ever had. Locked in, locked in, or so he claims, But larping at night in his fantasy games. He says he’s focused, he says he’s grown, Then sees one pretty girl and forgets his phone. Wingstop calling, the battle begins, M3 roaring while he swears he wins. “Who you feeling like?” he says with pride, Whole chat screaming, “Gio, please decide.” He laughs it off with that charming face, Somehow still winning at his own pace. Not the brightest, but he got that glow, Everybody knows when Gio’s in the show. He can’t explain it, he can’t do the math, But he’ll steal your girl and make the whole room laugh. Gio, Gio, what the FUCCCCK, M3 outside and the wings in the trunk. “Who do you think I am, Bill Gates?” But he still pulls up thirty minutes late. Gio, Gio, we are down bad, Chasing girls like it’s all he ever had. Locked in, locked in, or so he claims, But larping at night in his fantasy games. M3 dreams and Wingstop nights, Girls on the brain under parking lot lights. Sword in the back, no ranch on his sleeve, Gio got charm you almost believe. He says, “We are down bad,” like it’s a prayer, Then fixes his hair and pretends not to care. Locked in? Maybe. Distracted? A lot. But Gio stays Gio, like it or not. So pull up smooth, let the bassline ride, M3 parked with the wings inside. Not the smartest, but he’s charming and loud, Gio walks in and controls the crowd. Gio, Gio, what the FUCCCCK, M3 outside and the wings in the trunk. “Who do you think I am, Bill Gates?” Still got the sauce even when he’s late. Gio, Gio, we are down bad, Best little menace the chat ever had. Locked in, locked in, but we all know, Girls, wings, larping — that’s Gio.
