Yo
I'ma talk my shit real quick
I'm out of pocket with wicked rhymes you cannot stop
It's catastrophic, I speak the truth, but I'm no prophet
Grand Lotus, I reign supreme, you can't control this
Marksmen is the regime, grab your explosives
Real n**a, top of the bill, I'll grab a Hilfiger
Real n**a, swooped in the Deville, you'll catch a chill n**a
Patience to be realigned with the higher maintenance
While everyone is acting so complacent, face this
I'm in my Prime, no Optimis
You a pessimist with confidence
I'm tryna boogie down while you complain about the spot you're in
Don't know if I'd rather get the blades and get to choppin'
Never will there ever be a day that says I'm stoppin'
I'm for the hussle, niggas who hating can wear a muzzle
They're so confused cause they can't find the piece to the puzzle
Demand it, I'm taking that shit like a fucking bandit
I take care of business like my fucking briefcase and handle it
Ayy
And I'm just ballin' with my niggas
F**k a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures
Ayy
Man, shit, maybe seven
I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11
Ayy
And I'm just ballin' with my niggas
F**k a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures
Ayy
Man, shit, maybe seven
I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11
It's the lyrical B student that came with the heat fooling
You can't beat me, most of you niggas done skip schooling
It's Prime mothafucka, at your door if some beefs ordered
I come direct, no U-verse in my dish service
I spit heat like a new AC
If you coming to rap circles, n**a check your degrees
See, me, I'm tryna catch mine and a bunch of hits
I know my odds look bad, but hey, luck's my b**h
Another home run, you should check the average
How I rap this nice and still look this handsome?
Good shit on my weed plate, next to the home plate
21 Bars I'm a Savage, no UK
Flow clean like Pine-Sol, best flow by far
I came here to rap hard, no softball
On this rap shit I'm focused
I'm black, from the burbs, so you know that I'm token
Ayy
And I'm just ballin' with my niggas
F**k a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures
Ayy
Man, shit, maybe seven
I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11
Ayy
And I'm just ballin' with my niggas
F**k a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures
Ayy
Man, shit, maybe seven
I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11
Yo
So many stripes, Tony the Tiger told me my shit was nice (They're great)
But I ain't flakin, ain't no mistaken
I ain't fakin, I stay cakin', bringing home the bacon
Ironically screaming f**k the pork, dork
To have that five K in my hand, god damn
I'd be putting myself on to be the mothafuckin' man
Yet here I Stan, but the Em comparisons are getting old
And all the other white rappers that you've already told
Me I spit like, or that I need to, or how to shape my sound
Yo, I don't f**k around, I'd go pound for pound
With Biggie, Nas, and Pac in their prime all at the same time
My flow is unique to me so I'm proud to call it mine
So, I ain't adopting shit, I may be handsome
But I ain't Mr. Pitt, you get what I'm puttin' down?
Crown me the king of my hometown, best rapper is homebound
To his throne and f**k you if you think these bars ain't profound
