| Show out for the girls and get your ass whipped |
| On some 8th grade, right front of the class shit |
| You gon' try to test me but I’m a pass it |
| I’m a motherfuckin' genius and you in some bad shit |
| Step 'round a corner with my crewneck on |
| Hammer can’t touch me, man I’m too hands on |
| I don’t know you man, we ain’t never been to school together |
| We ain’t ever shared weed, bitches, or ate food, never! |
| They say money never sleeps, gotta have two hustles |
| Since I’m bagging duffles, I got ashy knuckles |
| Carry 'em to the bank, now I got big muscles |
| Man I do my thing, I got fans in Brussels |
| Y’all think I made it, I’m just getting started |
| Man I’m just saying, that shit retarded |
| Y’all think I made it, I’m just getting started |
| Man I’m just saying, y’all shit retarded |
| (I just got excited, man I almost farted |
| That’s too much information, my bad, I’m sorry |
| We got syndication, our shit go hardest) |
| And that’s why she chose and that’s why you losing, my nigga you garbage |
| Not to be harsh but fuck it, your bitches look parched and busted |
| And I bet that you be carpet munching, skunking |
| That Pepé Le Pew and you know we be repping the crew |
| Pac Div, you second to who? Maaaaan, ain’t nobody be checking for you |
| Must we remind again, must you rewind again |
| I’m off three Heinekens, and this shit is effortless too |
| I done stepped on your shoes and spit in your face |
| Disrespected yo bitch in your place |
| You still want a autograph? Gimme a break, I’m sick and disgraced |
| These niggas is fake, bitches is fake, man shit is just fake |
| I just stay to myself, I don’t get in the way |
| Got bread to get, got head to get, rap etiquette, don’t edit this |
| Need evidence, been repping it, ever since… bitch! |
| We overfaded in the function and we getting started |
| Shit, a nigga blew three blunts 'fore we finished parking |
| That OG make a nerd broad get retarded |
| A pretty bitch’s dream, a freaky bitch’s Mr. Marcus |
| Popping up for that revenue, standing tall like I’m 7'2″ |
| You ain’t cut from that same cloth, hell nah we ain’t gettin' no checks with you |
| No you can’t get no checks with me, get these niggas from next to me |
| Backstage drinking up the Yac, nigga you ain’t get no text from me |
| Shit pull up, I can pump your brakes, that’s dopeboy shit we pumping base |
| Flex so hard my muscles ache, stack that bread then tuck the safe |
| If it’s game day, I quarterback, that’s on me, them boys is back |
| All I know is that fly shit, got pimp game on my boarding pass |
| Fuck what you talking 'bout, I be making G’s |
| Posted up in the parking lot, dangling my keys |
| Fuck what you talking 'bout, I was overseas |
| Posted up, Polo down, catch me dangling my keys |
| If you try, you’ll find I’m rhyming in some Iversons |
| In the ocean, riding dolphins, grab 'em by the fin |
| Uh, yea bitch I’m ten feet tall |
| Bunch of hoes playing with my beach balls |
| The money in the way, I don’t see y’all |
| Finally making paper legal |
| Bitch I’m flyer than a seagull |
| Fresh as fuck, that’s by default |
| I hit Schoolboy Q to borrow bucket hats |
| Why you talking little homie, go and run a lap |
| Fuck that shit, I been ether |
| Have these bitches running like a gym teachers |
| So you can go and do a hundred drills |
| Twenty years old with a couple mill |
| It’s nothing, I’m a go for me |
| Just became a wizard, bitch I’m Okafor |
| Same shit you been talking for |
| These some raps out the fucking baking soda drawer |
| Yea I spit that crack bitch |
| Mac Div |