INTRO

Look, I'm sittin' back, in my chair bumpin' new Slatt
The new Cole hot, tryna get that type of rack
My streams a lil weak, merch sales much weaker
But I don't need hip-hop to get a stack and run it back
I'm cash, quick to write a track like the Flash
A poet from the jump, Lil Drusey in his bag
Tim Tebow of the game, man my dream will never die
Til Urban Meyer in the booth tryna sign me to the Jags, like that
The dark night's coming, I'm the bat
Brrrrtt brrrrtt, fuck a hater, put some lead up in his back
Lemonade with Patrón, get some Becky from the hive
Tryna fuck the damn queen, then the kid can go and die
But Imma live forever, I'm like Jesus in this bitch
Man, I could fuck your girl, she don't care that I ain't rich
Man, I be middle class with a little white trash
Steady puffing on a spliff while I'm studying for class, yeah
I see me out whippin' in the Jag, steady snatching all these ankles when I hit 'em with a jab
I'm Kyrie in my step, in her throat like I'm strep
The prince of my city, stacking trophies like I'm Pep, yeah

Yeah, B-A-T-E dollar sign
I ain't drink in like five or six months, yo
You can catch me with the gas tho, I'm still rollin' up
I ain't never claim to be perfect cuz working is enough
And if you ask me, I ain't ever been no punk
Fuck around and eat your lunch
That's real shit
Posted at the Foot Locker, if the shoe fits
I be climbing up the ladder, eye-level with spaceships
Who is he? Who am I? I'm the one who be making these hits motherfucker
You see why

Ha
Yeah