| They got my melatonin hella open, y’all, I’m seeping on 'em
|
| But I’m so beyond that next shit, I’m quantum leaping on 'em
|
| And they’re lambs to the slaughter, so I gotta feast upon 'em
|
| But J57 told me not to speak upon 'em
|
| Well, gotta get your, gotta get your, gotta get your bars up
|
| I connect that live electric shit that lit the stars up
|
| Y’all just bosses, I’m walking with a halo
|
| The way they’re politicking got my mama sick, it’s shameful
|
| This anglo’s slick as a raincoat, Get vehicular mangled
|
| If you think you can range rove with
|
| This con queso-getter from Grayskull
|
| That delivers the fuego to incinerate them same old cliques
|
| They let the flood gates open, I don’t like the result
|
| And I ain’t concerned with swagger, homie, I’m an adult
|
| So fuck a photo op if you’re still here for the music
|
| And holler at your man that be chilling with the chewstick
|
| And the people sing
|
| Can’t you hear 'em sing?
|
| And they all sing
|
| So let’s all sing
|
| And the people sing
|
| Can’t you hear 'em sing?
|
| And they all sing
|
| So let’s all sing
|
| Mama-se, mama-sa, mama-ku-suck on my dick
|
| If you think that I ain’t that sick
|
| You wanna clap that gauge? |
| Money act your age
|
| I got a massive range like I’m satchel paige
|
| I’m living proof that even if you sacrifice
|
| You only get a lil' dap as your asking price
|
| And seems like the ink dried all too fast
|
| You signed on that line but all you ass
|
| Y’all some borderline barnacles, welcome to the chronicles
|
| So old school that my molecules got monocles
|
| Fine women caught a few, ice dripping? |
| Nada. |
| You
|
| Ain’t built nothing but a little lego block or two
|
| Ain’t a person I can shoot, that was a child once
|
| Who never got a chance cause he ran with the wild ones
|
| Rather sip a 22 than throw a clip in 22
|
| Cause going to a funeral ain’t really nothing fun to do |