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Feeling like a vigilante or a missionary |
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Tell my A$AP killers get they pistols ready |
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Send 'em to the cemetary with obituaries |
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Don't be scared, nigga, is you ready? |
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I've been thinking 'bout all the O's in my bank account |
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X the hoes in my bed is 'round the same amount |
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Ever since this new star fame came about |
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Or ever since me and Drizzy started hangin' out |
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Young boy, let his gun bang, let his nuts hang |
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Transition to a Lamborghini from a Mustang |
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Drugs slang in the drug game with the hustling |
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(I know one thing) Anything is better than that 1 train |
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Bag made of Goyard, cheffin' like I'm Boyar- |
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Dee, probably selling D in your local courtyard |
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Braids like I'm O-Dog, my la familia go hard |
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Down to my inlaws, they outlaws with no laws |
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We outlawed then I bogart, any pros that got 'proached at |
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With a toe-tag, get broke off, in the projects with a skateboard |
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I roll past and I blaze y'all like, 'DOO DOO!' I hate y'all |
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When the beef cooked, I ate y'all like, 'Mmm mmm,' let's play ball |
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In a ballpark with all sharks and a blindfold, I rhyme cold |
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My K hot, your 9 cold, that bark like K9 drone |
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That banana clip, straight from the rip |
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I'll make that shirt say RIP, I'm on some shit |
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If I'm not the hottest then Hell must've froze over |
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You thought it was safe then forgot what the code was |
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I carry traits of a traumatized soldier |
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Don't look in my face, I might snap, I might choke ya |
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Spine right out of place, give me dap like you 'posed ta |
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Darts at your posters, dark nights like this |
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I metamorph like I'm 'posed ta, I might slice my wrist |
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Or pretend like a vulture and drop off this cliff |
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Barely even conscious, talking to my conscience |
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Gettin' deeper in these flows like conches |
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I'm on my convict, don't drop bars, I drop prisons |
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Don't sell rocks seen the spectrum through the prisms |
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Somehow bypassed the bias and the -isms |
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The violence and the killin', so given |
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They seen my pigment and thought that was the ign'ance |
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Unfortunately I am not that type of niglet |
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But pass the pot let me skillet |
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Just got back to the block from a 6 o'clock with Jigga |
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And I'm thinkin' 'bout signin' to the Roc |
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But my niggas on the block still assigned to the rocks |
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And I swear it hurt me soul |
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I try to prevail, but when I preach it only hurt their sales |
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Like you're only gon' end up either dead or in jail |
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But you my nigga, wish you the best for real |
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When you mention my name amongst other white rappers |
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Or for that matter, any fuckin' rapper, fuck it |
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Painter, skater, musician, trailer park dirt ditch diggin' |
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Burger flippin', eat, sleep, shittin' human bein', you would be in |
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Trouble to body double or couple me to these others |
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Cause comparatively speakin', my reach is beyond the bubble |
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That they put me in, my vision's beyond the Hubble's |
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I huddle with Nubians, new beginning again |
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You in school at 10, late, Radioactive's goin' gold |
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And so? GREAT. Do I give a flying duck |
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If I'm applyin' love to my rhymin' plus alignin' us? |
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Alabama's climbin' up, wait, no I don't give a |
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Flying duck, nothing but a buckshot, Ch, pow! |
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Motherfuck your life, pussy blood clot |
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Ain't never been no rapper this cold since 2Pac was froze |
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And thawed out for spot date at a Coachella show, Yelawolf |
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Weed a different color like a hoodrat bra and panties |
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And my flow be overhead like pots and pans in pantries |
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Antsy cause I'm high like Michael Jackson penny loafers |
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Moonwalkin' on the sun, barefoot, with shades on |
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Bitch pussy smell like a penguin |
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Wouldn't hit that shit with my worst enemy's penis |
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Bitch when I say this I mean this: 'Ho, I'm the meanest' |
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Dick so big, stretch from Earth to Venus |
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That molly got me nauseous, on shit, no off switch |
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Lawless, obnoxious, on that 'suck my cock' shit |
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That is my synopsis, ostrich pot shit |
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Hoes on some God shit, stop it! You not this! |
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Novice, regardless, heartless and awkward |
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Cryin' tears of vodka prima donna at the concert |
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Adonis smokin' chronic 'bout to vomit gin and tonic |
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Just bein honest, tell me, isn't that ironic? |
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Swiftly, I shift the Bimmer 860 |
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A heavy smoker so you know I brought the Blake with me |
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The moon's reflection off the lake hit me |
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You should've stayed with me |
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Now many Asian bitches lay with me |
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The face is silky like a tablecloth |
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My shorty gallop in the morning on the beach like a Chilean horse |
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Red roses drop on boxes very often |
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Confetti torture, drinking Henny like I'm Kenny Lofton |
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Outstandin' |
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I fixed the game between Georgia Southern and Grambling |
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You see us scrambling, selling Susan Sarandon |
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The cloud of smoke like the phantom |
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Damn this shit tastes like fantastic |
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You see me comin' through in each state |
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Just so the lord could put the fork inside the cheesecake |
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Cuffed to my wrist I've got the briefcase |
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The gavel slam, I'm a free man, try not to eat ham |
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Big KRIT, shawty |
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Spit like my last breath: casket rap, six deep |
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Eyes closed, the black is back, out come the 'Lac with flats |
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After that, bottles I can't pronounce, like,How you ask for that? |
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Why you ask for crack and all you had was scratch? |
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All I had was rap, when all they had was wack |
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All I wanted was love, all they had was doubt |
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Fuck them haters and fuck them hoes and cherish your wins |
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The aftermath, ask LeBron, open palm slap a bitch |
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Walk the plank or break a bank, I've been in the business of sinkin' ships |
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Chokin' niggas out with the anchors that they anchor with |
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Resuscitations cost the label, I'm taxing if you want a hit |
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Clear, fuck your career, bitch, I was born here |
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Been a killer, ...86er, nigga, that's my born year |
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Get the fuck from ...round here, that's just my country ways |
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Suckin' on your momma's titty, bitchin' while I was choppin' blade |
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Grippin' grain, fuckin' hoes, candy paint like Everglades |
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Miss me with that rapper chatter, take that shit up with my bass |
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I put that on my sub, how could you ever doubt me? |
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Most rappers hoping the world end so they won't have to drop another album |
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B.B. King saw the king in me, so why can't you? |
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In order to come up close, you'll have to dig up Cash and Elvis, too |
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Muddy water flow, Dixie rebel past |
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Fuck your Louis flag, popping benji tags on your wifey's ass |
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That's out of line, but in living color? |
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I'm more like Miya Bailey on you rap motherfuckers, a true artist |
