Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, alien gay.
Sickle, sickle.
I don't mind the youth.
We used to clown niggas to shiny suits.
Now these you gotta rock tiny pants and don't try and boof.
If I don't love you, * you, I will zut you.
Cut off his fingertips, he'll be tweeting
with his knuckles.
Single shot under the chin, I just want nubbed
you.
Switch now here, swish, your * gets sloppy
when I gut you.
You don't really know who you * with
like a one night stand.
You probably understand one night stand.
This ain't beef, never look at it as that.
It's all rap, cause worst thing he could do
is tweet me in all caps.
It's all facts, you know the drill.
Trust it and ball back.
Whoever catch you lay next to you is a vegetable.
Death is what you destined to.
You can eat
all the kale you want,
but in this booth you got hell to cum.
Niggas, Detroit,
you know
where the * I'm from.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Where is the lyricism today?
Where is the real heart and soul of music today?
I'm out of this planet with it.
Examine the biggest story you can see in the bigger picture.
Being a little richer,
would you give it all to keep your kids from freezing in the winter?
I'm cold-blooded and hungry for gold
nuggets and money you sold out your soul.
Now this old * is grumpy,
they more baller than a rapper.
I'm more author than an actor.
A warrior,
but when it starts,
they call an info backup.
The style is premature and unsophisticated.
Got hurried off the page.
No growth was incubated.
I'm over this bitch and jaded.
A showman who's quick to say I'm the greatest,
like I'm the GOAT,
while I joke like I'm Rick Gervais.
You ignoramus,
choking like smoking them cigs for ages.
I'm roasting it to your face while you post it on Insta pages.
Now mind you,
the production sounds really big,
it sounds really fat,
but it don't feel like nothing.
*, snow, snow,
listen.
Y'all see me and my clique,
we been king of this since it's data.
Business in the booth,
make moves,
don't see my page drop.
Staying in the same spot.
Now I'm out for bigger plans,
shows around the globe.
Whilst they fake their way up on the gram.
Standard link to farmer's scratches,
plastics in the bag.
Chatter * up when I rap and never fake no follow back.
They been head off down a path,
letting vanity inside their mind.
Living life for likes,
I put my back in like it 9 to 5. On my grind,
diamond design,
that pressure built me.
Killing MC Guilty underground,
no bling,
I'm filthy.
He'll be Mars,
murder club,
served up somewhere near real clean.
We'll see how many little so and so
still think they're real G. Snow be dope,
you know the flow,
be local so they feel me.
Words fly around the city just like writers up on Stilby.
It's real me,
and the crew could serve you up severely.
So keep your wack ass chatter from your mouth whenever naming.
While the slap rap is around and proves the game.
Sacrifice might turn them as a sacrifice.
I'll eliminate my competition.