I'm letting y'all know from line one, Verse one, track one, that now's a good time to pack and run. So go ahead and take them pop hooks, go ahead and take them trap drums. I got dark rappers fucking turning pale and turning white rappers into cracker crumbs. That goes for anyone that wants to act dumb, I'm accessorizing with brass, son, so you want teeth or to flap gums? Fucked around but the nap's done, and I'm lights out when it's action. Code red - evacuate! All this fire, we need a flash flood Or the way I'm going, like a whole plane of the fire retardant with the red dye. I'm steaming, got red eyes - not the type we need Ben Stein. Can someone please identify how these shit rappers they been signed When I bully 'em up like McFly on the track, and to boot, they less fly? I'm pretty fly, white guy, pretty white for a fly guy. Every nice pair of tits you ever seen? I'm the dude they were signed by. Haters must be on SciFi or seeing Tye Dye off of Mai Tais, Cuz you won't cop that I don't flop then it's high time you go bye-bye. (Hook) Yo I kill the game. Started dope and I'm still the same. Ill lines they fill the brain. When y'all fade I will remain, cuz motherfucker I kill the game. Let me tell you something, man, fuck the can. For that trash you spitting off - Your mixtape? Shit belongs either out back or in the litter box. You want the formula for what I'm cooking up? Chef secret, that's in the sauce And that recipe's in that floor safe. So how many y'all want to pick the lock? Y'all picked the wrong MC to take on cuz you ain't nothing near it. I got this game on lockdown and way, way up is what I'mma tear it. So fuck your beats, fuck your lyrics. Fuck your swag, fuck your appearance. Fuck your friends, fuck your parents. You ain't on my level, don't wanna fucking hear it. I got the same drive as like 3 MC's. 'Bout to blow up like TNT. 'Bout to hate fucking TMZ. Yeah, bro, I got ESP. Talk shit I'm seeing EMT's. I'mma give it to you like DMX and I run shit like DMC. Don't be flaunting that chain link. We talking ice? Bro, we ain't even in the same rink. I am money - Abe Linc. 'Bout to make your damn fame shrink. These waters flooded with shit acts so it's about time someone drained the sink. (Hook) No features, just D. Wack verses make the beat suffer. I ain't got time for that weak shit, I keep it triple-digit like police numbers. Freak-stuffer. Turning vegan bitches into meat-lovers. With Decibel, man, they get the bone like Fido at that beef supper. Watch the seat covers. Try to keep your hands at 10 and 2. When I'm blaring out of your fucking whip, you wanna grab the disc and get a room. I'm on grass like tennis shoes; kill shit's what I tend to do. I smash ass like a wedding groom and I got Amish bitches sending nudes. Pencil me in for victory. Matter fact, use a magic marker. Write it big and scribble the shit 'til the page is looking like Travis Barker. With accolades, you wanna make a pile? I'll stack it larger. I'm the talk of hip-hop, just head to the hood and ask your barber. My tracks are harder, hotter - too much so for a freeze frame. Pen doubles as a heat ray and you gon' get charred if you don't keep away. Scary skills, I got the DJ hiding in his sheets in his PJ's. I've been a problem since Pre-K and I'm 'bout the cheese like Green Bay. (Hook) Sample Credits: Carole King - I Feel The Earth Move

Run for your life, this dude's come for a fight. Hell-bent on killing rappers, get another delight. Am I living up to the hype? Shit, when I'm done with the cyph They throwing bills at me like It's A Wonderful Life. I'm that stranger you don't talk to, take you mother's advice. Turning slick-spitting rappers into stuttering types. Yo, we nothing alike - me and these Simons that sounds simple, I've been fire emoji since hashtags were pound symbols. Been smacking grills since before I lost a baby tooth, Throwing crazy dukes, getting bitches out their Dasiy Dukes And their bathing suits. These rappers hate me, true, But way they fucked the game up I'm just doing what they made me do. I got some scores to handle, I got some shit to settle. Outdo these bums lyrically dropping instrumentals. These 90's Nick kid rappers, yo have 'em get assembled. I'll show 'em with steel who's a Legend at Hitting Temples. (Hook) And if you ain't noticing here I'm taking over this year, Ya hear? I'm as ill as they come, get cake and I ain't spilling a crumb. Hero to most but still a villain to some, At least the competition, cuz to them I'm Atilla the Hun. Storm the shores with swords and make the villagers run. Turn whatever they built to ash, smoke, and rubble piles. Dopest fucking style, frequently fly - double miles. Dudes be shaking, going, "Yo, your pal's a spaz." True enough. Fuck Compton, I be straight outta Alcatraz. Was born fire, now with rap I found the gas. Found my knack for fucking tapping girls with old-school Alba ass. If we did this shit in mistresses, bitch I got a fortune. Player, slayer. Getting more poon than George Cloon. This ain't even fair, I nuke the game, warhead it. Cleanup crews on standby - more stretchers, more medics. Hit up the rhyme shop with 10 grand in store credit. Any MC left alive with a bed, yo they sure to wet it. (Hook) I'm on my shit like Charmin. Pull a "Here's Johnny" - Nicholson, not Carson. Old-schoolers put rap on the map, I put it on the Garmin. Darwin, stay hungry as an apartment of starvin Marvins. Starting shit with yours truly, that's a big no-no. Do so, you get your roll slowed or go the way of the dodo. Kill rappers pro-bono, spit venom - kimodo. Fucking Yoko on the mic, drop the lines that get the ("Oh no"s/Onos). I'm on that 90's Bulls/2000's Pats status, My ass baddest. Style so dope I have to mask it With Gloria Jean. Small talk bores me to sleep. That's why I keep it B.I.G. notoriously. And if you can't already see, I'mma remind you I'm the dictator Of trends. Think trap's the future? Yo, you better switch flavors If you ever wanna hit the majors and get some rich neighbors. Poaching MCs to endangered cuz, face it, this shit's a banger. (Hook) Sample Credits: Electric Light Orchestra - Nobody's Child Dr. Dre - Light Speed Martin Scorcese - The Wolf of Wall Street (film)

I Think They Hate Me That Decibel, man what's his deal? That "I'm the shit" shit, is that really the fucking spiel? He thinks he's cruising to success. I think he's drunk at the wheel. Don't he know you need that bumping feel? That club appeal? 'Stead all we got is another track with no dope hook and all he does is rap. Girls want that Hotline, not hot lines, so what's up with that? Bro, fuck your trap. I bash that and do it unabashed. These other acts soft as butter packs, ain't gonna last, so I don't fuck with that. And I got a knack to grab the mic and just spit facts. What, you heard "spit fast?" Well that, too, and I mix tracks. Enough chit chat 'bout these dudes that ain't with that and couldn't drop me like four bars if they started off with a Kit-Kat. These kids bumping that 1738 shit and wanna play it back. Last time around, weren't they the ones that were cranking that? Screaming "Free Weezy," now they streaming G Eazy. Shit, it's making me queasy, and I'd say "fuck rap," but I think it needs me. And now that you heard me, I think you know you deserve me. You know you deserve me. You know you deserve me. If it wasn't for this meddling kid, do y'all know what you'd be dealing with? A bunch of fuckboys making fucking noise, nothing more, and still feeling lit, Selling records. They'd be driving 'round like they real legit. If Rick Ross got a 911, I ought to own that dealership. Y'all lack skills. Dope lines, I got a pad filled. I'm mad ill and I smack grills and I break crowns like it's Jack and Jill. These gimmick acts, they gonna fade away as soon as they fad will. I go hard, you need dad pills - I ain't talking that Advil. Fuck a drop, when I'm through it's a mic slam. Save it, Flav, last thing I need is a hype man. Hope these rappers' parents got they ass a Gerber life plan, Cuz I'm taking all their base away - not just the white fans. The reviews are in, I'm all tomatoes; bro, you small potatoes. Only cream you 'bout to spread these days is with a box of bagels. I'm hot as fuego. Matter fact I'mma botch your fable, Call the label and spit rhymes 'til your deal be like off the table. And now that you heard me, I think you know you deserve me. You know you deserve me. You know you deserve me. Would y'all really rather I fall in line? Get myself some face tats and a stage name with a dollar sign? C'mon now, y'all are lying. These dudes spitting that free verse, cuz my ass stole all the rhymes. I'm post-trap. And whatever's next I'll be post-that. And that don't even make sense, cuz the whole style's a throwback. I get them slow claps. These dudes, they so wack. They wanna step into my house of pain, they gon' turn around by the coat rack. And I spoke facts when I told y'all no generic beats. No chirping off with that shit I hear like a thousand times, what you parakeets? And I hope to hell y'all kept receipts For that pre-Decibel shit you got, cuz that stuff's gon' rest in peace. (Do you love me?) Nah, I think they hate me (x3). Cuz now that they heard me, I think they know they deserve me. They know they deserve me. They know they deserve me. Let's do it. Sample Credits: The Contours - Do You Love Me

The baddest ass with the baddest flow. Known to rather go H.A.M. than with the status quo. Y'all got me napping, yo. Is this rap or a fashion show? Flipt-scripper, less Mackelmore, more McEnroe. Breaking a racket, causing a ruckus. Chowdah-eating fool coming in as hot as your suppahs. I'm not with these suckas that couldn't spit trying to hock a loogie. I knock up cuties and put step-dads on mop up duty. Yeah I'm Don Juan, spend more time on blondes Than Type 2'ers do on frickin' Long Johns and bon-bons. Hungry like Ramadan, horror flick to your rom-com. Shit's about to go down, cue the Phil Collins tom toms. Tell Hong Kong to chill - don't worry 'bout no reptile. D's the real monster, not some shit out the X-Files. Those talking trash get charged with slander and send to trial. Either that or I get riled and see to it they get exiled. I been miles ahead of y'all, that's just the way it goes. So head to Trader Joe's and grab some more Hater O's from the breakfast aisle. (Hook) They think they want it with me? (x2) Nah, man. Shit, ain't no question who's the illest. And if they feel it. Who's the illest? (x3) (Decibel) I told my mom I'd grow up to be a basement rapper. Make a record 'bout doing laundry and name it after her. I know y'all pissed with what you hear from today's rappers, But Polly had it right - all we needed was a dang cracker. I make cadavers out of these dudes like it's fricking war. MC's fetch my coffee. If they're lucky, I let 'em pick a chore. What you spitting for? Really, bro, your shit's a bore. Don't touch a mic, don't mix nothing, leave the vinyls to the kitchen floor. Please, no more shit rappers, I'm on my last straw. Y'all fronting, so don't you even try to act raw. You be fighting with the in-laws, I'm fighting with the at-laws. With fuckboys I crack jaws like some shit out the snack drawer. No Ed or Eddy, though, strictly the double-D's. I know my place - somewhere between Riff Raff and dungarees. Only red wig in this sea of fades and black dreads. I got that cash spread, you Celiac the way you lack bread. Boy, you Charmin soft, and my ass Ted. Even trolls lining their walls with Decibel Fatheads. (Hook) By now ain't you heard the spiel? We really need a third appeal? Just pulled a couple royal flushes, so now it's your turn to deal. You maybe got a curb appeal if we grading on a curve, ya feel? I'm barking, dog, so yo better learn to heel Or I'll have you playing dead, getting sliced like provolone Or beaten upside the head with a trashcan like it's Home Alone. Aww, you wrote a poem? But where's the ill lines or chromosomes? Dial 1-800-DECIBEL now from your mobile phone And I'll just read you my notebook. Y'all don't even have to learn. Give half my verses to charity and write 'em off as tax returns. Beat-maker, with an ear for 'em like a pachyderm, Plus lines that sting harder than your first shave with afterburn. I go the largest - real shit, no mirages. Making rappers start their cars in closed garages. Y'all got to regroup, you fucking with D. Seuss. Screw the dogs, they really ought to ask who let the beast loose. And forget these cats pimping mixtapes in cheap suits. Shit, I'll sell 'em a step-stool half price and throw in a free noose. (Hook) Sample Credits: Elton John - Bennie and the Jets

Cousin Kurt Yo what's good, cousin Kurt? Just want to let you know while you're still above the dirt, And in case the surgery doesn't work, That for what it's worth, I owe you for me knowing just what I'm worth. And it's funny. We were never tight, like I'd have hit you up For a ride otherwise I'd have to take the frickin' bus to work. I mean, I drank beers at your wedding and I'd see you like every third Fourth of July with the fams rocking the summer shirts, But then you called me up. Guess inspiration comes in spurts. Told me I got to shape up or I'mma never pass these other jerks. Like, boy you got a nerve, telling me to readjust the verse? I'm whiter than these other cats, but you whiter than my undershirts. But you kept passing the dessert - humble pie 'til my stomach hurt. And if you ain't told me, it may have never just occurred That I need to go practice flows in the car 'til my lungs would hurt. I was talking self-pity while you was talking to a fucking nurse, Looking at me like I'm squandering my youth. Was me even saying I really wanted it the truth? This was about more than just getting a sauna on the roof. I wasn't owning shit and that changed by getting hotter in the booth Cuz you told me to. Now I speak loud, no preamble. Make the competition so sick, they gotta feed 'em Campbell's. I'mma make it, man, so fuck the booze and the grief candles, And call me up instead the next time you wanna reach for the handle. Ayo let's go back, before we ever thought I could blow doors, You were up visiting, shit was probably like '04. Both our moms moving granny cuz she needed nurses now, And you took me and my brothers out, bumping the verses loud. I was just learning guitar cuz I was real, real artsy, So you played me some dude sampling Seven Nation Army? How 'bout you visit in a few years when I got the car keys? 'Til then, couldn't they have stuck me with the cousin with the Harley. And it'd be hard for me to figure, but those discs in your CaseLogic That day, they'd go on to shape the way I want to make profit. They'd be my footing every time that I'd slip more, My tandem jumper when I'd fuck with my own ripcord. Anyway, then you had your kids and we didn't really talk much. You knew I had stage dreams, but you never heard no product. Kept my potential in lockup. To all these girls I'd chalk it up, The reason I was less "aww shit" and more like "aww shucks." And then last summer after some more "Look what she did to me," I shot a video clip 'stead of a clip into me. Said, "No more ballads, I'm choosing cyphers over symphonies," But wasn't grinding consistently - still lacked an epiphany, Then you called me up. And not to talk me up, But to tell me this right here, this is where the road meets the hockey puck. Said my beats were worth millions, and it was hard to figure At that point if we were cousins or you were more of a father figure. But different, cuz all those coaches I had in Pop Warner, They believed in me too, but I ain't trying to be the top corner. They couldn't tell me which one of my beats were actually throwaways. Or to spit nastier and spazz like Ice Cube and Ghostface. And now they 'bout to do you like the dude from the Operation board, And I don't believe in this shit, so I won't pray to the lord. But I promise this: I'll make you proud before it's posthumous, And have a new verse when you call for as long as you're a patient for. Sample Credits: Edison Lighthouse - Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)

Yo it's that dude with the red beard. Scalp like Ed Sheer, known to cause some stiff neck hairs. Any rapper that's made a name, prepare for it to get smeared. I'd say I pay homage, yo, but I doubt the fucking check clears. Any bad bitch you want, son? I've done that, been there. And these Comic Con cuties, shit I'm on 'em like head gear. I end careers and give y'all that white light to head near. Workaholic with the pen - yo this shit's about to get weird. These kids about to get scared, cuz deep down they know they wack. Bystanders see me amping up, like "Yo, somebody hold him back." I bring it fresh, none of that pre-packaged frozen crap. MC's dropping singles that couldn't fuck with my bonus tracks. It's balderdash, nonsense, a bunch of fucking hogwash For y'all thinking you can jump in with this round of long toss. You really wanna play ball? Prepare to go AWOL. Or bail before I do and you're on the wrong side of "Hey Paul!" Playing Hack-a-Shaq with this battle ax. Slashing cats and do 'em worse than landing in a cactus patch. Y'all can't see I'm the illest? Time to readjust your cataracts, Cuz at battle raps I get more "Ohh"'s/Os than a box of fucking Apple Jacks. Nah, he ain't playing. I hope you clowns acknowledge, I got your sound demolished. Nah, he ain't playing. The throne, I'm settled down on it, so pass the crown polish. Yo this right here's a clean sweep, so where the brooms at? Fuck this new rap. I'm bringing back that damn boom-bap. All that from a 2-track. So sick I need a flu-vacc. Don't skew facts, when I'm on stage no one's screaming, "Who Dat?" Yo I'm known. They 'bout me like New Orleans 'bout the Saints. Shit, I'm all about the bass and fucking calling out the fakes 'Til they be falling out the race or getting hauled up out the place. Yo by all accounts I'm ace so best acknowledge that I rake. Shit, I'm Papi in the clutch, you's an 0-for with two errors. D's a true terror, capping more chumps than New Era. I slice dudes like cheddar, make 'em crumble like blue feta. Buddy, you do you, but if you're doing this just know I do it better. Whoever's making a GOAT list, if I ain't on it there's an omish. Ask other cats for verses this hot, they be like, "Go fish." They like, "Oh shit, this dude's taking my whole shtick." Yo they so pissed. I blow doors while they blow dick. And I hold doors, gatekeeper for the devil like Brodoeur. As if I won't hoard ill lines when greatest ever's what I'm going for. Dirty as old whores with cold soars growing mold spores. Don't be so sure I'm human, this like something out of folklore. (Hook) They all trying to shit on Decibel. Tell 'em, "Shouldn't have done it, man." G'head, try it. You'll end up like Travolta on the fucking can. Untouchable, brother, hear me? Do you understand? I'm royalty in these rumbles, knocking dudes out 'til Summer Slam. I'm 'bout to bust a can. Y'all better call the stunt doubles, The way I'm jawing rappers this trap be anything but muzzled. I'm real, so what struggle? Dope by anyone's measure. FCC rides the dick and let's my shit play uncensored. Y'all are floating like some butterflies, I'm stinging like a bug bite. .08 of the blood type is hard liquor and Bud Light. The rough type - human walking antonym of uptight. Flipping all these birds, there's none left in the sky upright. And fuck hype, I make tracks that make y'all go "aww shit." It's raw shit, throw my weight 'round like Crossfit. If I ain't running things how I make the fucking boss quit? Got that silky smooth flow with rhymes sweeter than (Chocolate!). I clear 'em out, with hay-makers or just wear 'em out. Take a crew single-handed, it still ain't a fair bout. The off switch? I couldn't tell you it's fucking whereabouts. Your boy's a menace, got Bosley patients pulling their hair out. (Hook) Sample Credits: Jefferson Airplane - Somebody To Love Queen - Somebody To Love

F.I.L.T.H.Y. Fuck small talk. Who needs to get they balls washed When they sicker than and got beats bumping like smallpox? Fucking the scene up, dude you may as well call "cot." I am the law, rappers be like mall cops with bald spots; Fucking Paul Blarts. I'm sending widows to Walmart Cuz I just cleaned up all the Sorry For Your Loss cards from Hallmark And sent 'em to the competition. D's a career killer. Listening to this shit feels like the first time you hear Dilla. Uh, bitch I'm so fire, at very least a blow dryer. Neighbors know I'm dope and throw they own kicks on phone wires. Buddy, set the bar, I'll go higher. Bitches dropping panties like I got roses and Godiva. Need tips on how to stay baller? Gimme a dang holler. Bro, I see more butts/Seymour Butts than fucking crank callers. Fuck 10's and I ain't lying, fuck 10's when I ain't trying. Kid, don't even front, you got the same clients as Lane Bryant. And fuck su. Yo, this whole shit be mi casa. Your boy be Rasta. Need some ill lines? Well he gotcha. Decibel's zee mastah. Dick-wielding Cleopatra. Anyone saying different's luego better be hasta. Can it, bro, I'm buying sneaks you ain't even trying on. Yo I got them J's, these dudes be fucking Silent Bob. Can't no one ride along with the kind of high that I've been on. Double-charge you for my disc, meet-and-greet, and fucking sign it wrong. (Hook) Yo, this shit's filthy, It's F.I.L .T.H.Y., it's filthy. Yeah, this shit's filthy. It's F.I.L.T.H.Y., you feel me? (x2) This like old-school, except I'm twice as ill as Cypress Hill. Hit the town and roll harder than kids practicing fire drills. Haters if you got do/dough, g'head buy a dil-. Type all the shit you want, I think we know who's doper IRL. Yo, call the IRS. Someone get this guy audited Or off the streets for something 'fore he takes the game and slaughters it. Well, too late, you ought to quit. The rage, I've unbottled it And when I say I want to spit, cats are fainting at the thought of it. Am I worried? Not a bit. I own rap circles. You've gone this far shutting up, yo, don't trip over the last hurdle Or you get your pad burgled and bitch spanked 'til her ass purple. Funny guy, keep cracking jokes, I'll crack Urkels. The rest of y'all are playing checkers, well then king me, fuck chess. Decibel's the 1-seed and I don't believe in upsets. With kicks, snares, and the hats, shit yeah you bump less. So step, brother,/step-brother you can't touch my drum set. Who else you know spitting lines over Santana, Hitting lines like Montana, swinging a long hammer? There's a log jam of shit acts and these other cats who don't even know rap Coming in all Sway-like with the wrong answer. My shit smooth, don't even act like it wasn't fudge. I get that 10.0 perfect score from the Russian judge. Yo, amscray. Kill the game was Plan A. And it's pretty clear I'mma stick to it, but keep trying the Pam spray. (Hook) I'm known to blow britches, the flow's vicious. Someone get these rappers a tee, cuz they ain't even hitting my slow pitches. I'm all hits, no misses. Mo' bitches, no Mrs. My man, your show's finished, career's over, blow kisses. Or embalm it and stick that shit in a coffin. Got that uptempo flow, like how they spitting at auctions. Matter fact a verse with no breaks, that just isn't an option; Sound like Christopher Walken with all this shit that I'm talking. My octane, that be higher than Mariah's octaves. If I'm hucking tomatoes, then these rappers in the stockades. Where you gon' need some Band Aids, bruh, it's like you wearing Nelly's. Got these haters catching fucking knuckles like Mirabelli. The style's so divine, there's ain't even close to mine. Dudes wanna know how to slay, well I'm laying out the whole design. I am the illest rapper going - yo, that's bona fide, Not just another guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy. ain't you noticed I'm the shit? Remind me how you Joe Cool When the fans I got were yours and I'm rocking your jewels. Know the rules, dudes be drowning, close the pool. Stop talking Ciroc when you can't handle your O'Douls. Your net worth ain't going nowhere, B, you on the Ferris. Every hour I add a couple 0's to mine - Robert Parish. Yo get that weak shit out of here - Mutombo. Yeah, this was ill, but who's ready for some mo' gumbo? Sample Credits: Santana - Black Magic Woman

Back at it, it's that resident swamp monster, Putting rappers on some thin ice over hot water. Got that premium style that you can't bite like a Gobstopper. These other acts the cheapest thing on the roster since Oskar Kokoschka. That talk's gonna cost you, bro, I'm a god-topper, So thinking you up next's a non-starter, cuz I'm a non-stopper. Like, damn, that's an advanced flow. Pen's the weapon and I got cheats for unlimited ammo. Could probably use a shrink, but, fuck it, I got Dr. John. Walk along the edge of squawking, dog, we'll solve it in the octagon. Empire - Ottoman. Keep it wild - Audubon. You ain't heard a doper sample since Kanye with Chaka Khan. Light it up like the Dooby brothers. Fred, I'm tagging in, go see if fucking Scooby's covered. Dinner-and-a-movie lover? Nah, I'm just a groovy brother With and M.O. to get mo' of these bad bitches cootie-covered. Whatever bus they threw me under, I'll just walk it off. Forgot the plot? Well knock it off, cuz I got something hot to drop. You maybe get a jaw to drop; when I'm on, they dropping off. I talk the talk cuz on the mic I kick it like a soccer shot. I make a viral rapper go sterile. There's a chance I'm going down? Shit, I be like, "Nope, zero." I'm on that Joe Cuervo straight with no Coke Zero. Crowds of rappers next to me like Dia des los Muertos. Yo this some home-cooking, this some Bubba Gump. I'm always on, so what a slump? If I ain't killing something's up. In that same old trash bin I be lumping up a bunch of chumps. Logger in this rap game, y'all a bunch of lumber stumps. A bunch of fucking fucks, a bunch of bench-warmers. ain't D from the woods - how he sounding like the French Quarter? Must've been the witch doctor that turned me into a hip-hopper. Shit-talker with flows hot like they straight outta the dishwasher. Villain via voodoo vex with no use for manners. Taking on your boy, that ain't gonna work out, like screws and hammers. These dudes will stammer, wet the bed like they need new pajamas. Y'all know who it is - illest here to fucking Louisiana... Decibel. Sample Credit: Dr. John - Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya Sublime - Let's Go Get Stoned

Dealing With It I'll leave the sad songs to dudes who had jobs making trap songs, Who now in some deep shit like I just pulled up with the chat logs. Take over their fans and their city like black smog, And girls 'til only ones left for 'em got no ass like Catdog. These guys lapdogs, ankle-biters, fricking yorkies. I'll roast 'em on any topic - matter fact, g'head and pick it for me. I'm still chill when dudes come at me. They wish it was a different story, But I'm hitting shorties, sipping 40's, and watching Rick and Morty. Kid, I'm already on Rushmore and it's just now that I'm coming in. Haters' words go on the bulletin, no do-overs, no mulligans. With all this pussy I'm pummeling it's like the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. I fll my pages with ill phrases; these dudes, they may as well be coloring. I pull 'em in like Jack The Ripper, do damage like a jackhammer. Jacked rapper, Jack-slammer. Wild boy - Jack Hannah. Flash the camera the tall finger. By all figures I lack manners. English major with wack grammar, but that's all, no wack stanzas. (Hook) Take a seat, brace yourself, things about to get real in a minute. That bull rap y'all know's shit? Well, I'm dealing with it. They be getting theirs with their kills diminished. Well no mo', cuz I'm dealing with it. Never waiver, I'm still committed. Still committed to be dealing with it. I'm going in, fuck how you feeling with it. No haters when you kill the critics. I used to bitch, saying, "Screw this shit," but these days I'm just dealing with it. And I ain't human for starters or that dude from Tha Carter. So too-cool-for-school, I'm fucking truant at Harvard. Let's keep it hakuna matata or you'll be using the armor. ain't no Joe Schmo with flows, shit the way I do it is lava. You and the barber both talking? Guess now I gotta bag a couple. Girls, tell your bae I'm trouble; he's better safer muzzled. I play it safe in scuffles, open-hand slap you to save the knuckles. Bitch, I'm all brain, mo' brawn, all that and a bag of Ruffles. New flow, that was too slow. Got rappers saying, "Screw clothes." Way they shit they pants when I'm going at 'em, they be rocking diapers like Sumos. These putos like Pluto. Yo dog, I'm Cujo. Crews know that at 3-round battles, I'mma get the trophy at 2-0. Oh shit, it's the 5-0, and I'm fresh off of some tae bo. But fuck the law, fuck Geico. When swines float I'll drive slow. These dudes going Dido, waving white flags, I'm going psycho. Rapping freak - sideshow - spitting rhymes next to the fried dough. (Hook) Invest your dough in that Decibel and you gon' move over some decimels. My green be like Draymond, be like Mean Joe, be like vegetables. Y'all can bet whoever's next to go, if I ain't headlining that festival, They gon' hit the stage and start sweating harder than eskimos down in Mexico. These rappers wish that I left alone Their game, cuz now they a step below and want to shoow themselves like Plaxico. I told y'all I was rap prez - go ahead and check the exit polls. So electable cuz the testicles on these other dudes at a record low. And I'm Texaco, straight gas. On fire, stay back. I be giving these bitches the D with no permission from Sayjack. Sharpest prick in the haystack, sharpest whip with the Maybach. Bitches blowing like all day, no need to call for the HVAC. Ay mack, this track's hot, fucking lyrical jackpot. So dope, the shit sells itself, no ad, no slapchops. These dudes doing smack talk better off blocking a slap shot With no pads. I got gonads - real beast, no mascot. (Hook) Sample Credits: Evie Sands - Run Home To Your Mama

So this one goes out to all the cousins and fam, The fucking uncles and aunts that think I'm getting drunk in a van Or something. Equating what I'm doing to being scrubbing some pans, Like, "ain't it time to grow up and start becoming a man?" Both parents so embarrassed, he never stuck with the plans. Well, I know at least one is, but his ass is stuck in a trance. And with mom support I'm hardly Kevin fucking Durant, But that shit's all relative, cuz, me, I'm loving it man. Let me express the purpose of the food and beverage service: Straight cash, homie, plus time off to be shredding verses. Ceramic pig with less cents, but at least I got a sense of purpose. My life, my bubble - bitch, you don't get to burst it. Great, now that nonsense is rubbing off on his little brother. Well, maybe, but as long as he knows you just need shit to cover The car, phone, food, and rent, and if it's fitting under Your budget, then budget in some dream-catching time before you miss another. What's he doing? This kid's smart. You're right, I ain't a fool neither, Sticking it out, going to school to become a school teacher. Left that shit a month in with the faculty grilling me, But I'm too busy mixing tracks to hear the flack that they giving me. Yo, raise your hands higher than the Statue of Liberty If you want to rap for a living, B. Well, tough, you lack the delivery. And I have the ability. On the attack, are you feeling me? Had an epiphany, fuck waiting, this gon' happen deliberately. (Hook) Yeah, don't just take what you're given, man. And if you just making a living Don't mistake it for living. G'head and make a decision That you won't take what you're given. Let's go. So this one goes out to all the fucking joke-crackers And pity party-throwers assuming I've had my soul shattered Or gave up, cuz what? The job title don't matter. Well, I see your wallet's doing so, but you know what else is growing fatter? Your asses sitting on those paper credentials, Mundane as fuck telling me 'bout wasted potential. Shit, you writing your life story in erasable pencil, But, hey, guess mine's worse cuz I'm still scraping for dental. "You know you need money to pay the bills." Thanks, that's news to me. Glad I heard you here from the kid's table with the booster seat. I mean if we talking down, can you at least give me puberty? State-worthy grades, but where the fuck I go? Community. Too many turns from, "Hey, let's grab a drink, pick the date," 'Til I indicate what I'm doing and it's like, "Aww, that shit can wait." Well, tell you what, enjoy Mr. Bomb Interest Rate. And here's a finger to pixelate, cuz fuck it, I got hits to make. Underachieving? Cuz, really, I kill it in most facets. Concerning myself with those concerned with road traffic? I'm so past it. Wow, look, you filled your whole basket! So hold them groceries tight, cuz life clearly you don't grasp it. Success calibrated strictly by funds allocated? Well I think that's bullshit, but I guess it's time to get validated. Get money, get bitches, get 'em entreed and salad plated, Then the rear-view will be 20-20 from when I hadn't made it. But that's future backtracking and right now we in the present tense And I'm failing as evidenced by the bonus checks I never get. Traded sweater vests for an apron, must be out my better sense. Only way you bringing this waiter down is by tipping 10%. I got that forward motion, you acting like I'm diminished. Shit, you still gon' be at the line of scrimmage by the time we finished. Mind on success and thick-headed like a pint of Guinness. Yeah, I hear you know, but when I get it let's see how you try to spin it. (Hook) Sample Credits: Hall & Oates - Rich Girl Kanye West - Skit #2

Bitch I'm so money, envy nobody. All mine, no buddies, no Cher/share, no Sonny. Hold the door fo' me, you still won't get no dough from me. I don't blow money, I am it. Bitches blow money. I'd rather split my wig in two than fucking split the cash. Guy, I'm a mix between aristocrats and Mr. Krabs. You on that starving artist grind? Cool, stick with that. I'll be sitting back, flipping tracks, fucking sipping 'Gac Or maybe Chambord. No landlord. Came out the womb rocking jewels, check the camcord. Only thing changed now is that tats - I got two of 'em: In God We Trust and E Pluribus Unum. Uh, Sacagewea, I just happen to be her. You know the lifestyle's optimum when you laughing at Kias. Kid, I'm ching-ching. Kid, I'm bling-bling. Yo, it's over, ref tell 'em - ding-ding-ding. (Hook) You asking who's money? ain't you noticed the jewels, dummy? G'head take a cue from me. Fuck it, take two from me. Bitch, I'm too money. Yeah, you asking who's money? ain't you noticed who's schooling who, dummy? G'head take a cue from me. Fuck it, take two from me. Bitch, I'm too money. I'm rocking new J's, stocking toupees, Getting souffles, spreading Rupees. You asking who pays? Fuck it, what's the suit say? Cool to say that next to me you down a few goose eggs. Shirtless in the videos, but when dressed it's white collar. Yo I'm quite baller, and I like dollars. But the way I'm living these days, lately it's gold bars. Oh, you got a Gold Card? Cool, here's a gold star. All these schemes - I'm above it, never growth-stunted. Fuck chasing dead presidents, yo, Franklins on the hunnit. Give me all the founding fathers. I'm counting larger. Dealing in coin strictly, hell no we ain't down to barter. Yo, you not slick. You picked the wrong shtick. I'm fucking blonde chicks, life like a Bond flick. The crib gets crooks, the whip gets looks. And yo it's checkmate when I pull out the checkbook. (Hook) Is this home movies or a scene from Scarface? Run a Boardwalk Empire with hotels on Park Place. Reserved parking space - I want it, I do it up. Fuck a lifeguard, yo, I be swimming with Scrooge McDuck. Who'd have thunk I'd turn a 'tu' to an 'usted?' Started underground, and now the pool is. I ball more and bank less, the apex of AMEX. Don't sweat a drop losing a whole stack of blank checks, Cuz I got mo' cash. Yeah, I got mo' furs. You got no furs, I got chauffeurs. Had a growth spurt, leave the pennies to the loafers. Fams knowing easy which cousin they want to croak first. And when I do, fuck it, let 'em have the finances. I'm the only one turning a dinghy into the Titanic, But hold the iceberg, and leave the lettuce. I get money, got money, am money. Get it? (Hook) Sample Credits: Clint West - Big Blue Diamonds Pink Floyd - Money