作词 : Kalem Tarrant/Rusty Moos-Moore

作曲 : Kalem Tarrant/Rusty Moos-Moore

(Cough-cough, cough-cough)

Ayy,sit back as I rip from the chest

Microphone in my hand and a voice in my head

I'ma keep spittin' till there ain't none left

I guess death be the only thing that keep me set

Like, two years since I said ya dead

I made moves that the money ain't a thing, oh, yes

I stress that I'm not just a regular guest

The rap for the stacks, I bring back the boom-bap

Like, who that kid dressed in all black?

Every mother****er wanna be on my track

I don't give a f*ck about your cap-ass rap

You stay wack while I snap, keep the bars on tap, huh

All I hear is "Money, money, bitches", but I don't see no money or the mother****in' bitches, uh

All I see is corny rappers acting famous like they made it, but ain't makin' any ****ing digits

Yeah, let me break it down for ya

You do it for the image, ain't nobody down for ya

Comin' up out the grave, I was underground for ya

Now I'm comin' and takin' the throne, better bow down for ya

Highness, leave your bank in the minus

All my bills are blue like my mother****in' iris

Fillin' up your head like a goddamn virus

Really wanna say my double dare, you ****in' try this

What?

All you get is my piss

Spit like a mag and I'm dumpin' my clip

Name someone else who be doin' this shit

Y'all can keep it coming, schema clique in this bitch

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand

Sun in the sky and the smog in the air

People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear

You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care

Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand

Sun in the sky and the smog in the air

People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear

You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care

Time to kick dust up, I bust like a clip

When I duck out the back and I creep up like this

How many mother****ers must get dumped with the gun quick?

This is for the souls that felt this

Who's that?

Comin' straight from the back

I just stack up my pack while you sit there and act

Tough mother****ers wanna be so bust like they subject to another style they suspectin'

Everybody wanna be respected

Take a little shot when they least expect it

Who am I?

Gotta be objective

The blade stay tucked and it ain't selective

Dissected, emptied out his pockets and kept it

Split a mother****er from his posse like Brexit

I don't give a f*ck about a man who said shit

Really want a feature but the flow expensive

F*ck out my way when I bust it like that

Sly goes the track, and I punk out the gas

F*ck what you say, and then f*ck what you heard

I stick to movin', I fly like a bird

Spray words like it's blood to the paper

Stay cursed, but if I see things worse

When I go and get a rise I'ma take Earth

When you address me you go 'head and say "Sir"

Can I get a little bit of the steez please?

I reap the rewards of a war I'm knees deep in

I pull pins like a frag, I'm so bad

I bust slugs, bitch, and recover the bag

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah

Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand

Sun in the sky and the smog in the air

People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear

You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care

Sittin' on the curb with the .40 in the hand

Sun in the sky and the smog in the air

People lookin' at me for the clothes that I wear

You can see it on my face, man, I just don't care