Music: Heems/Lapgan/Blu/Quelle Chris
Uh, know what it is (yeah, yeah)
The tip top of the hip hop or be a rich mob for your clique
Think it's Tel Aviv, you're gobblin' up (yeah)
B***h coppers wish they shot us with clips
But couldn't stop us at a red light with a stop sign standin' in front of my whip
Got a problem, got a revolver to solve it real quick
Kickin' ass like combat boots, you steel tips
Knock you out like Chris Rock got by Will Smith
Real shit, **** around in that metal will split
Dead straight from the ghetto ever since
Little kids with the bibs, now we serve beers
Tryna get dibs on some pork ribs
But they just give us the short stick
So we force d**k down they throats for that horse shit
We're the fortunes, bigger portions, big cribs and porsches
We was broke when we smoked on them porches
Poor kids never get a break 'til they get cake
And that don't last long 'til we take our hat off when we pray
Yo, yo, yo, yeah, yeah, yeah, yo, yo, yo
Yo, we went from jumpin' off the porches to passin' torches in some Porsches
You horseshit, your balls got me snorin', you're borin'
Peep my lore kid
Yo, I'm somewhere out in Bora Bora, tourin'
I'm in the ICU with grips on my socks
Duckin' the cops with a grip in my sock
Blade in my pocket at the stop and shop
Westin' beef, see the opps and I drop and pop
I'm at the ER, they thought I was an MD
Yo, they think they friendly with me
A Lemp-T3 on any MP3
You wasn't with me in the MPV, then let me be
Vina logo on the invoice heading
High threat count on my bedding
Yo, I'm an urban legend
An Hermès turban legend
Prada loafers at my cousin's wedding
Yeah
Yeah
I'ma need every single one of y'all bum-ass rappers to shut the **** up
Get picked up by the bus because you broke
I got Deebo shrimp, mother****er, I picked the bus up
Kids need naps, they actin' fussy and flustery
Curl 'em up like warm water and pink lusters
Bank cards bust, they double as pill crushers
Have you feelin' gooey inside like fruit gutters?
**** love to hate when obviously they love you
Duckin' face when they see you like lips puckered
Why the hate?
When it's hard like Webby tryin' to say Charlamagne
We roll with a bunch of bears like strong and paper
Every dollar in the bank only makes me greater
If it was only 'bout the love, I'd be a millionaire
I got it covered, head to toe like Sicilian hair
Heems and clean up, and I'm tryna pull a double dare