| I’m not a rapper, I’m a writer
|
| It’s a couple chefs in this game, and a whole lotta' biters
|
| Fuck’s wrong with these niggas
|
| Fuck’s to it
|
| Fuck wrong wit' 'em
|
| Fuck’s to it
|
| These niggas talker not walkers
|
| The drive of Paul Walker, I got it
|
| Can’t touch 'em, like, now that I’m sipping this Henny Hypnotic
|
| Fuck wrong wit' 'em
|
| Fuck’s to it (uh!)
|
| Honestly can’t nobody come for me 'cept Kendrick
|
| And I hope you offended, like it’s untrue
|
| Don’t make me debunk your kung-fu
|
| Fuck up the whole Feng shui when we come through
|
| They can’t hurt us
|
| My shit in Target, I’m Nate Burkus, they ain’t perfect
|
| Can she walk out with the javelin
|
| Y’all niggas babbling about who the greatest and who after him
|
| If intelligent discussion was dribbling, you’d be travelling
|
| And I’d be somewhere Harlem Globetrot traffickin' truth
|
| I’m adamant about the handle I got on this shit
|
| I pattened it after James Harden and James Patterson
|
| Don’t make me Alex Cross, cross 'tween, skip through that lane and change
|
| strategy (uh!)
|
| Niggas lose medullas, fuckin' with my shooters
|
| Rappers lose medallions fuckin' with Chicago
|
| So many niggas hangin', they know Mr. Cooper
|
| Police they are shooters then like bloopers
|
| They gon' play that shit on T.V., 'til we Stevie to it
|
| Say we can’t make them drink the water
|
| I don’t know if we can lead 'em to it
|
| I see the difference, I don’t see improvement
|
| I see people that look like me that’s leeching to it
|
| And apparently speaking on it is preaching to 'em
|
| And apparently having opinions is tragic to mention, no matter intention
|
| But only when you got blue checks and new checks and a few floors,
|
| more than a duplex
|
| I’m too stressed for all this, fifth-grade, bitch-made
|
| Watch your mouth when you spit facts, what for?
|
| I got the fire nigga
|
| Heard 'Soul album and I knew that I inspire niggas greatly
|
| Alex Hailey at the root of it all
|
| My quest-for-love just wasn’t suited for ya’ll and my black thoughts won’t be
|
| muted or diluted
|
| And livin' water can’t be polluted at all
|
| Secluded I be, too many delusions I see when you speaking and you losin' me
|
| That’s your 15 minutes, you losin' 'em
|
| They draw their conclusions
|
| I just be just disproving 'em, my ink hold weight
|
| This paper hold heat like aluminum foil
|
| Your correct in assuming the soil is fertile
|
| I’m growing like weeds, I’m growing my weed
|
| My shorty look like she come from where they growing ya’ll weave at
|
| Ya’ll throwing shade, I three-man weave that
|
| It’s been a one-man fast break, ya’ll ain’t even seen the team yet
|
| Fuck wrong wit' 'em
|
| Fuck’s to it
|
| Fuck wrong wit' 'em
|
| Fuck’s to it
|
| These niggas talker not walkers
|
| The drive of Paul Walker, I got it
|
| Can’t touch 'em, like, now that I’m sipping this Henny Hypnotic
|
| Fuck wrong wit' 'em
|
| Fuck’s to it (uh!) |