| It’s that dark rebel at chart levels
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| All lames get bent off the frame like daredevil car metal
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| March with fellows in the hardest ghetto
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| Kids in the kitchen, but large kettles
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| And they ain’t cooking marshmallows
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| Something more like a hard yellow
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| Young face to supply base like mozart jellos
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| So step on this shit like go kart pedals
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| Right here you’re getting rizzy
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| Fried and cooked to the fish scale
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| Crispy like Arthur Treachers
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| Ain’t it hard to heat ya imposter with heaters
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| And your future type of car be the reaper
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| Double action like a double feature
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| Being a young eager beaver made em puff the reefer
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| Now grown up, he loves the divas
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| Bustin' in they cleavage, chuck snub heaters that blow like a club speaker
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| Hit dames in the head like caveman clubs beater
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| He be the king size, KGR franchise
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| Ice cold, see no soul in the man’s eyes
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| And my main goal is to roll in that land ride
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| I spit quills to make a killing when my grams dry
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| You see a killer in this man’s eyes
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| I’m killing and I’m burning like a camp fire
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| He said that I ain’t trapping, that’s a damn lie
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| I hand-to-hand pies like a grandma
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| But no, I ain’t a granny, I just ate Xanax
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| Took down eight Xanax like straight candy
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| I got a lot of tools but I ain’t handy
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| I’m a motherfucker savage, but I ain’t Randy
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| But I still get these bows off
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| Kool G and Logic like Beethoven, Mozart
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| Like show parts and Breitling
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| Zangief and M. Bison, but we nicer
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| Word slicer, toss 'em up like volleyball
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| I’m flyer than an albatross on Al B Sure
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| And I’ll be sure to make you think that Logic Ali raw
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| I’ll probably body ya’ll, mashed up like Mardi Gras
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| Dropping off your body parts so your mommy’s saw
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| You gone probably have to get your bodyguard a bodyguard |