Lyrics Disclaimer - Retch

Disclaimer

This is a disclaimer
This is not to hurt anybody’s feelings
This ain’t no Macklemore, this packs that’s raw
No Iggy Azalea neither, this niggas selling bags of ether
Not that One Direction shit that your mom bump
These pussy niggas holding rope and getting lined up
This not Ariana Grande, bitches sipping lattes
This that trunk full of bricks nervous on the highway
This ain’t Miley Cyrus dog, this is niggas wilding
This ain’t no Bruno Mars, this niggas popping bars
This ain’t no J. Holiday or Jeremih
This that taking over buildings selling dubs that’s fire
This ain’t no Wale, this ain’t no Makonnen
This junkies dying in the stairwell cause the dope is potent
That’s my nigga, but this ain’t no fucking Mac Miller
This that niggas calling back cuz the pack killer
This ain’t for the radio, this ain’t for Grammys
This that selling smack and tucking bread with your granny
This ain’t no Justin Bieber, but that nigga nice
This your friends catching bodies, now they doing life
Just tryna bubble off the sniff, this ain’t no Taylor Swift
This is niggas holding butter, ain’t no Jonas Brothers
This ain’t Pitbull and this ain’t Flo Rida
This that even if ya bitch told you go find her
This ain’t B.o.B, this selling TNT
And tossing packs right out the whip before the peeps can see
This ain’t John Legend, shout out John Legend
It’s your block doing numbers cause the dimes seven
Yo, I can tell you what it is but I just tell you what it ain’t
I was nineteen in the park shooting dice and smoking dank
Getting twisted with my niggas, Charlie came through with the drank
And I only had a half of loud, but dog we made it work
Thinking back to all them nights, slanging X and doing dirt
When I was sliding through the X to grab a thousand pack of percs
Now I left my ex, getting five thousand for a verse
Quick to get you exed, hit your man, lie him in a hearse, nigga