Lyricist : Tierra Whack/Destin Route/Bryan James Sledge/Thomas Brown/Tyrone Griffin, Jr./Asheton Hogan/Frank "Nitty" Brim
Composer : Tierra Whack/Destin Route/Bryan James Sledge/Thomas Brown/Tyrone Griffin, Jr./Asheton Hogan/Frank "Nitty" Brim
Started from the bottom, n***a
I'm from the, I'm from the, I'm from the, goddamn
Real stupid ass, look, uh
Niggas with a whole lotta problems (Damn)
I'm finna make it to the top from the bottom
Burying the bird in the bottle (Damn)
Mom say she finna get the belt and get the Bible
I can see a rival on the rible, huh (Oh shit)
He can let it sing like the bullets in the rifle
Anything to take a n***a title, s**t
Guess I'm a non-American idol
Like, guess I'm another n***a they like to turn a blind eye to
So in the mеantime, I'ma grind 'til I find you
Pull up on yo' set like Tеldec, rewind you
Remind you, I been in my prime, I had a find too
**** a iTunes, come at my show, give them my food
Never poured my four, niggas is white foot
Force you rap doors get in the line
Don't get out of line, I'm out of my muh'****in' mind
Molded most of the time
They-they want press, but they close to the line
Two racks in, I'll start, hope it responded
'Cause if we gon' step, never stop on that dime
And if they show up, then I'm Optimus Prime
Pray to God, now I'm watchin' for signs
And we crack up like the pops on a Vine
No hand me that, hand the Glock for survival
Hit me back from the block with the hustles, hmm
They think they the one 'til the real one walk in the room
Yeah, that's right, I said it (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
They think they the one 'til the real one walk in the room
Yeah, now let that s**t burnin', ayy (God)
(Yeah) Now let that s**t burnin', ayy
Hold on, let me get a tight grip
Every time your fans see me, they askin' to take pics
But I'm holdin' my glass since I was great six
If it don't make me money, it prolly don't make sense
I'm so good at makin' you second-guess yourself (One?)
I be smoking niggas and in the fact, some, two
Sit with it, I shifted it, I quit with it
Maybe you should sit with it, chair-chair mommy
I bury my opponent (Yeah), they can't believe I re-wrote it (Yeah)
I be goin' heat, star rollin' (Uh, what? Uh)
Had a soul and you sold it, I'm bloated and devoted
What they let to sing and, nigga, all say I floated
You need to work harder if your money can't be folded (Yeah)
Better way, you know it (Yeah), why would you compete? (Uh)
Really, I be chilly 'cause I'm known to overheat
Oh, you said you smell somethin'? Well, it must be the feet, wait
Ooh, oh-oh-oh
And bring your friends if I bring your man
Try a 100, man, [?] a man
We still gettin' in, we still gettin' in (Ayy)
They think they the one 'til the real one walk in the room
Yeah, that's right, I said it (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
They think they the one 'til the real one walk in the room (Oh)
Yeah, now let that s**t burnin', ayy
Now let that s**t burnin', ayy
