| Oh, here go that shit that you wish you could sound like | 
| You pray for the soundbite | 
| With your key on your sound kite | 
| Your niggas close to broke trying to get your little sound right | 
| Ladies, throw your titties in the air if it sound tight | 
| I know, I fail to fit the mold | 
| Bugatti down the road less traveled | 
| You know I ain’t got one of those! | 
| I be camel-back, practicing my humping for my hoes | 
| And he sent me back just to snatch up everything y’all own | 
| So I’m, back in the West End | 
| Posted at the corner of despair and who cares | 
| Giving niggas directions | 
| A pair of Nike Airs and some fake injections | 
| Somebody let me hold it 'cause the devil keep testing | 
| Ain’t never had no people | 
| Neither a team either | 
| Give a fuck about my sneakers, I was raised in the creek | 
| Where the luxury of weeping ain’t available you see | 
| And the factory producing a new junky every week | 
| But, Ain’t no way around it, Niggas like me had to creep up | 
| Shake they ass down at the table with my feet up | 
| Never seen us coming til' it’s over like the Reaper | 
| Tell them girls, «Keep Up, baby I don’t need ya!» | 
| I know it’s difficult you had it up to here with those | 
| Flashy ass superficial milky nigga cereals | 
| Hangin' with the crew I’m in | 
| Wonder what they really on | 
| I’m just tryna sing a spirit song and put my children on | 
| Lil niggas know Rick Ross | 
| But they don’t know they take home | 
| Slow through my city like an elephant | 
| Make this left on Langhorn, I’ll show you where the devil went | 
| They wanna fuck us cause we militant, relevant, novelous, element | 
| Dressed up like some better win | 
| When I dream | 
| It’s your skin I dream of | 
| My body’s rare | 
| Did you know this? | 
| Oh, ooooh | 
| Your eyes only see | 
| I woke up to a set of manicured hands around my neck | 
| The plan was to abandon after sex | 
| But I, guess I dropped the ball on this one | 
| (Guess I dropped the ball on this one) | 
| And my stomach’s steady growling, growling | 
| Cannibal on stage as I gaze into the crowd and decide who I’ll be chowing | 
| Childish, major moves daily, daily, daily | 
| Daily sprouting, out the fucking box that you tried to lock us down in | 
| But still a nigga quite perturbed (oh well) | 
| But these might be my last words (oh well) | 
| And if you dare to look me in the eye for too long | 
| Guarantee your eyesight gets blurred | 
| I’m arguing with myself as my body starts to rebel | 
| Like the cartilage in my legs was causing my knees to fail | 
| I promise, I fuckin swear, I’m too honest to make it here | 
| I’ma probably pull a Chappelle, get my dollars and disappear! |