| ZO, I’ve done a little, it look like a lot
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| Seems like it’s getting under your skin like Icy Hot
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| I strip you of your story, show 'em you 'Maliah' lot
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| You write up stories, I’d rather get life on writer’s block
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| They love you when you here, forget you when you gone
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| Parole got denied, now who gon' use the phone
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| Soon as I got paid, I put them lawyers on
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| Money down on the books 'til all my niggas coming home
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| Either you happy or you jealous of the things I have
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| Either way it’s autographs or my nuts to grab
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| If I’m out of state it’s black trucks, nigga fuck a cab
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| All my work is speaking for itself so I don’t have to brag
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| Smoke a blunt with Diddy T, Rogers on the texts
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| None of this shit is coming and I did this shit myself
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| I’m getting big but never too big for my city
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| But smart enough and big enough to know that nobody’s fucking with me
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| 21 having a ton of fun
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| Every bitch I meet keep treatin' me like I’m the fucking one
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| I’m worried about guap not gossip
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| At the end every night I pull receipts up out my pocket
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| I got this seats with the AC and I’m ridin' in a spaceship
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| The words I hear the most is proud — congratulations
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| Please don’t talk to me about your musical frustrations
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| Cause nigga I’m getting better, that’s something I can’t relate with
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| Checks after checks, accolades and nominations
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| Flew out the town to work, but why this shit feel like vacation?
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| Hotel, five star, top screen like GTA bitch
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| I set the bar so high you need a trampoline to drank bitch
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| Fuck the other side we reenact the segregation
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| Okay I OD on life, wear clothes for no occassion
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| Why that last bar written out look like my bank statement?
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| Capitalize every O and you will see I’m paid
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| It’s the kid with the backpack
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| The one who can draw
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| The one who can dress
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| Design his ass off
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| Sound familiar, ay
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| If Drake the new Jay, please tell me who can fill the shoes of 'Ye
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| But shit who’s to say? |
| People say it’s…
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| (…you
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| Trust me on this one
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| I’ve got a bad feeling) |