Denzel Curry – Heartless (13 EP)

Niggas be thinking they real niggas
Fuck around with me
Bitch I am a megazord, industry you do not win awards
First time she saw me it’ll probably be her last time
I lay you down with the dinosaurs
This ain’t what you heard before
My nigga I’m done with the nonsense
Out of the darkness, I feel like a goblin
My niggas movin’ in silence
Boop boop boop boop boop
I’m high as a hoverboard
You niggas don’t want a war
That woo woo woo woo woo
I am so heartless, why am I so heartless?
This ain’t what you heard before
And put it through the glass pipe
Like Jordan you stay with the bullshit
I eat like a carnivore
Y’all niggas with that barking shit
Niggas be thinking they diamonds
Out of my starship, I slept with a goddess
When she call me back
Roll it up, smoke it up
Boop Boop Boop Boop Boop Boop
This’ll probably be your last night

None of you niggas prepared for war
My nigga I’m outta my conscience
A whole bunch of kush and some indo
With all of the things that I seen
Roll up the green like a herbivore
[Intro]
My gun got diarrhea when it
Do you hear the 1 to 44, double 22
[Verse: Denzel Curry]
I am so heartless, I’m feeling so heartless
I’m throwin’ my brain out the window
I don’t compute like a motherboard
I am so heartless, why am I so heartless?

Bap Bap Blap Blap Blap Blap
It’s looking just like what Bush wrote
I’ma tell her it’s a bad time
I do not talk shit, I rented a starship
I’m bout to roll up with my kinfolk
[Chorus]
Hold on let me slow it down, Harvey DJ’s crew
I am so heartless, why am I so heartless?
I am so heartless, why am I so heartless?
Niggas be thinking they shining
Roll up the green like a herbivore

Denzel Curry – Zeltron 6 Billion (feat. Lil Ugly Mane) (13 EP)

Speaking facts like 360 degrees drop it

You lookin’ at my zoom, my shit is Sicil-ian!
Lately its a lot of days I feel hopeless (fuck it)
You could be a statue and you still won’t be as hard as me
You lookin’ at my zoom, my shit is Sicil-ian!
The coldest flow in a snow globe, my nigga I’m lost in frost

Because you cannot fuck with Zeltron 6 Bill-ion!

Pardon me, niggas be, Madison Square guardin’ me
I crash into your soldiers like bricks thrown by Shaquille O’Neal
Like Del so you could know that I’m funky as ever
Kill off, you and your posse, if you cross me

Come back from the dead I’ll smack you to purgatory
Piffing looking crispy I got origami money folds
I’m finna run through to the city and kill shit!
Hard to see, RIP my older brother Lotto Tree
[Chorus]
Its a lot of days I’m feeling like I’m drowning in the ocean
Y’all lookin’ at my bitch, my bitch is Brazil-ian!
I’m finna run through to the city and kill shit!
When I hit the scene it’s like a goddamn explosion
We got it locked like a prison
I’ma lay you down underneath the ground if you fuck with this
Who else but Ugly Mane and Zel
Kill my insecurities because they tried to make me soft
Ugly Mane, bars played
They gon’ find your body in the alley
[Intro]
I’m finna run through to the city and kill shit!
Miami back to Richmond back to Cali
Welcome to the cellar, propelled into a realm
I hit you with that lethal dose
Fuck the industry, I only worry about my artistry
Sometimes I’m a butterfly, most times I feel like a moth
Ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, ultimate, yeah
You lookin’ at my zoom, my shit is Sicil-ian!
So then you meet me at the elm
[Chorus]

Puffin’ it, I be acting foul for the fuck of it
Like zero, the pain is down to hill, my brain is made of steel
[Verse 2: Lil Ugly Mane]
Because you cannot fuck with Zeltron 6 Bill-ion!
Dawg, I’m murdering everything inside my allegory
Put your hands on me and your hands gettin’ broken
Find me out surrounded by some shooters
Wisdom, you think you mobbin’ but you isn’t
Y’all lookin’ at my bitch, my bitch is Brazil-ian!
I’m finna run through to the city and kill shit!
You better watch your mouth playa
Ugly Mane, bars played
You lookin’ at my zoom, my shit is Sicil-ian!
Have you so shook you wouldn’t even want to cross streets
That shit I spit be so morose
Because you cannot fuck with Zeltron 6 Bill-ion!
Y’all lookin’ at my bitch, my bitch is Brazil-ian!
They be young and old
Got ’em twistin’ on them D’s watching
Short fuse, don’t cut it close
Running the game I be unapposed
Head up in the clouds when the dutch is lit
That blood in my veins be running cold
[Verse 1: Denzel Curry]
Ugly still the ugliest, Ugly still destructive
I never went to college, don’t even listen to Asher Roth
Could rock it so funky as hell
Y’all lookin’ at my bitch, my bitch is Brazil-ian!
Because you cannot fuck with Zeltron 6 Bill-ion!

Royce Da 5’9″ – C Delores (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

Everything I spit be sick, gag phlegm
I be blacking out, you could ask them
Let the hail from the evil word flip hath fury
While I spray your ass with four different fours

Now it’s like we not even trying to be good
Therefore, this is more than just my dormitory

I’m gon’ relapse for a bottle or be in the absence of Godot
Taking care of two, three dudes but these people be lying
More layers than 44 sorting [?]
The extendo’s on the AK 47 and it’s wrapped in the dresses of En-Vogue
[Verse 1]
Grate her down, all for the greater good and the greater grind
They feed negativity, we eating vagina while
In order to picture these digits, press will have to capture Loch Ness
Keeping it Zion, we turning the streets of Detroit to a D zoo
Everything I wear be tailor-made to fit, Giraffe trim
Eating all the bark with Gargamel off of the cherry tree
One of the last living rap forefathers who wouldn’t ask for a dollar
I should sign my autograph with a polygraph
The Virgin Mary took a morning-after pill the morning before fornicating the Lord
I be out here telling the truth
The dude did eyeball, with me psycho and schizo
While they denying now, all these heathens be crying ’bout
Tryna get to you ‘fore you could brace yourself
I’m getting cheddar, they tryna catch up to my past M’s
My style lethal ferocious
Me, I left from the frying pan like the Devil’s last ingredient
I guess we missed our window to try to prove something
Huh, it seem like everybody out here right now wanna be ‘Pac
I move in silence
I open windows with hopes that the wind blows you ten mo’ blessings
Y’all niggas lollygag — not me
While driving a Ford wondering why guys look at me foreign for
While I’m flipping pies like Patti LaBelle, Sara Lee
[Verse 2]
Spot a whack producer from across the room

Tryna get rid of us
It’s time, it’s time to move something
You gon’ have to retire me
Walk up to him, smack his hookah across the moon
I’m the best at who we are, that’s fucking food for thought
Set my Timbo’s next to my dresser with the Nintendo, and yes
You eating Church’s Chicken with suspicious fictitious sinners
While I’m out here swerving the drop
Cause I’m tryna put yo’ ass in a body cast
We will not tolerate injustice and insults from our worst enemies then, and we sure ain’t gonna accept insults from our youth We’re beaten with billy clubs and we’re bitten with dogs unleashed by Bull Carters.
It’s only like four or five of you rappers who can actually inspire me
Streaming out your club when your single drop
Threw a piece of your heart in a jar for the people
This evening I’m with the biggest spenders having the most prestigious dinner
Just as I was on my way to score a quarter key off Artmore
This is the safe place I come to look Benjamin in the face
These niggas just here to provide dangerous detail
We keeping it G, we keeping the iron out
I just whiplash new beats
Delores Tucker] [Intro: C.
Vocabulary lords sicker than Herbie’s recording thesaurus
Relax for a throttle
Better each time I came through like I held back the previous
I’m an angel at squalor
[Interlude: C. Delores Tucker]
Tryna stay sharper than straight sharks in a ‘gator pond
Somebody ask me for change for a dollar
Go and toss that bitch into a dark lagoon
These niggas listen to sign language, probably speak braille
While I shoot the shit as deep as foul goes though, so it’s four to four
He’ll do the R2D2 to your heart
Like a single drop of blood off the beak of a vulture
So when you gon’ end up getting ate like four and four
They gave birth to me 44 days later drinking a 40 at the coroner’s door
He think that he Luke, he like to lift you and make you skywalk
It is obscene, it is obscene, it is obscene
Eating while we feed people to lions
I enter into a different intuitiveness on instruments
I’m here to combine all three Bar Exams for a fourth
I’m just a neck brace to the next crazy contestant who should step to me, neck pain
Subpar cerebrals
King of the dark art, all is pale compared to me
They ain’t skilled enough to stand the field with us
Delores Tucker] [Outro: C.
Your favorite rapper ’bout to get cleaned up, served in a box
Look, I’m the real thing
I’m ’bout to go so motherfucking Lamont Coleman
Either that or a model, these Ether raps are the Bible
It’s like we just sitting ducks in the eyes of evil
We marched for our right to at Selma, I was there with Dr. Music that glorifies and promotes violence with guns, knives, or drugs and that includes all this gangsta rap, that’s it. For 400 years, profit came before principle. King. We march again and we’re gonna keep on marching
And I’m getting better, tryna catch up and pass Em’
If the filth that is portrayed in these gangsta rap videos and art is not obscene then I submit that nothing is obscene Now we see the direct and indirect effects. In 1992 the Canadian Supreme Court ruled that it was more important to ban speech that is dehumanizing to women than to protect free speech. We hear the wailing mothers, the grieving sisters, the tormented brothers and fathers, and children planning their own funeral with pink dresses and pink caskets. We see the rise in murder, in abuse, in battles, teen prostitution, and teen suicide.
Uh, I broke my key off in the car door
If any of y’all MCM’s is any flyer than me there
So at 3:45, which, by the way, is a quarter a to four
While I’m zoning, stirring the pot
I make your mouthpiece obese like Della Reese
My threshold for pain goes farther than a marine who’s been ordered to war
Tryna stay in a genius, creative state of mind
Break a platinum plaque over a rapper back

They’ll make the iron speak too
We had the Congress mad at the whole genre
Icicles is made of blood-boiling water alluring gore
To dissect at Juilliard
Tell paparazzi I’m charging sales tax to media
Nobody else been thinking like me thus far though
While hip-hop stay colorful fruity like RiFF RaFF jewelry
Go into the heart of the art form with a harpoon
Until it’s parts of a easel
On the back of a hellcat or capture a meteor
I’m a living legend, you a fidget spinner
Like laundry detergent, pushing ’round these birds with a mop
Me, I’m just about to stick my dick in the dirt
We started off as targets
You don’t wanna play with none of his make-believe truth
This ’bout to be disturbing to watch
While Jesus wept I made boss music flunkies relate to
You just the next wave to catch a crazy catchphrase

Royce Da 5’9″ – Wake Up (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

[Verse]
Ex-mall workers who text wrong
I got the violent history of Gotti’s polaroid flow, there’s only one way to picture me
I’m sure if we took you to the gun range you couldn’t spray the target, fam
They all purpose, clique jumpers, they all ball-jerkers
Minus the fade by the barber, and all our thoughts cold
[Intro]
‘Cause nowadays you just all seem ruined
And all y’all thoughts blow, ours is Pearl Harbor
Where the fuck did rap get dislocated at?
Get off the phone, chump
And everybody can’t be motherfucking sexy
My twin barrells I call Tiara and Tia Mowry
Or I’ll come through and pee in your vegan salad
Hello, Hip Hop, what are you doing?
You couldn’t beat my daughter in a game of basketball in a garbage can in the streets
Competitive rap is back in effect
I got one question for y’all
And all my thoughts go in line, they can go inside of a barcode
I never ride the wave ’cause I’m the water, I’m like the rap Suge
(Can you wake up?)
Instantly a body
Fuck a drive-by, I just hop out the car and mush a face
What’s some of that corny shit that you been on?
And then I spit it like I’m trying to fill up a couple vaults
Liked today, but you ain’t holding none
And they should be the fucking law ’cause love is love even when love is lost
‘Till hard lines touch the bars
Your career is like a microwave without the door in front
And on the behalf of all men you making us look bad
They all crooks and snakes, all serpents
’till I feel 2008 is back
Fans being way too nice, where all my haters at?
Man, Instagram just need a dunce button
My mind shuffles thoughts
And quit being so skewed by views and streams
I just wish niggas would understand that
I wonder if they know how soft they all look today
Now all the rappers got their hands wrapped in a boxing gym
I spit hiatus raps, I’m just that good
Your raps are like just okay, but problem is you’re just okay with that
You couldn’t fight your way out a paper bag with Shenaynay from Martin hands
Put on a shirt, get back to the six-pack on the steps
What are you doing? Will you wake up?
(Can you wake up?)
You niggas at them labels need to come from the back of them desks and find the next nigga with talent
All part of the large circus mixed with Cirque du Soleil
People find love and realize that love is love
Respect the art
Shit like the K without the O in front
You niggas out here playing bitchball flapping your neck
(Wake up)
I’m just gonna keep spitting ’till this shit’s in place
If y’all scared, nigga, call the police
Using way too much autotune

Hello, Hip Hop, what are you doing?
You throw your punches like you ain’t ever punch nothing ever
You niggas need to be aggressive again
Being shot at is about as likely as seeing y’all on lean and Molly
Get back to respect What in the fuck is wrong with y’all?

Royce Da 5’9″ – N My Zone / Mask Off (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

I’m in a new zone, who this?
Dragging motorcycles past the light
I still wake up feeling independent
When I say that my ceiling is probably gone
How about I don’t give a fuck about burning bridges?
How about the coroner come through and tell you go get Maaco

How am I gon’ take a shot at something I can’t even fucking identify with?
And she into fitness like Brittany Renner
I deal with mics real Kendrick-like, I’ll kill a mic
I’ve been killing microphones, killing microphones
[Chorus]
I’m an unapologetic work in progress
Ain’t nothing but a dead something, I be headhunting, yeah, I’m going for that medulla
Used to do donuts on the grass, now I’m just feeling like a drone
(Hello) This a new life, who this?
Nigga, I’ve been killing microphones, killing microphones
Praying all his sons make it farther
‘Cause even though I’m sitting high somewhere I’m still spinning by your home, bitch
Killing microphones, killing microphones
I don’t mean to the end of night, come on
I act like them older cats with moola
How about I hop out the Maybach and challenge every living emcee?
Got a model blowing my mind, my new Monica’s blowing my Monica
This a new life, who this?
Baby, this a new phone, you yapping "who this?"
How about I come through and paint the floor with your whole crew?
And I’mma show no reaction to your rollie flashing like my zodiac a jeweler
[Part 2: "Mask Off" Remix]
On the moped flute-by shooting

I’m talking about clapping at these niggas with some shit that’s gonna feminize you strong
My blood type B positive, your type O like the credits wrong
[Verse 2]
Feel more like I’m in a heist alone
With this beat I’m going all the way
Nigga, I’ve been killing microphones, killing microphones
I’ve been killing microphones, killing microphones
But nigga, I ain’t feeling like Stallone
You don’t like the kind of car you drive, okay, how about Bow Wow’s jet?
Ain’t nobody out there ready for him
Or put the car around white walls, call ’em Fire Marshals to come and shut the party down

And I’m into fitting this dick in her
Don’t go and put your Energizer on
Killing microphones, killing microphones
I ain’t interested in the crown that don’t belong to Wayne, Shady or Jay Z
I’m on a roll like two dice moving
You don’t like to fight, how about sex?
My precise knowledge and intelligence
Take some of that bass out your voice
[Part 1: "Backseat Freestyle" Remix]
[Verse 1]
I been like the zone

I ain’t talking about weird science though
That’s a opposite
Maybe everything I’m gon’ say from here on then is gon’ be on the behalf of "who this?"
I’m feeling like the long days away from feeling my Patrón
Well advanced, I swipe a knife across your white collar like a cheddar scam
I’m talking about cracker-jacking these niggas ’till their whole enterprise is gone
Used to have the coldest bitches waiting for me chilling by the phone
I’m sorry, my top is unavailable right now, my roof gone, who this?
I’m funny acting "who this?"
Nigga, I been in like the zone
Get a running start, jump into a hole, take a hole in that beluga
You don’t like your life, how about death?
I’m talking about villainizing your home
In front of your table with TMZ doing interviews while you eat lunch
Skill, is only developed by hours and hours and hours of beating on your craft Talent you have naturally. The separation of talent and skill is one of the greatest misunderstood concepts for people who are trying to excel, who have dreams, that wanna do things.
This ain’t no Redbone and who this
How about like Argyle
I’m looking like Rambo in this bitch
With Kodiak on that Patrón, I’m hot and on cognac, I’m cooler
She independent, but she into niggas that’s big spenders
I’m talking about tenderize the bone
Nigga, my taste amazing, my chick look like the waitress from Hooters
I’m somebody, ain’t nobody better than
I’m a savage, on top of that I’m a reckless product of D&D
I mean I’mma take it to the grave, untilI end your life it’s on
I’m on a boat in Dubai fooling

I be using Windows like I’m on a HP
I’m immune to all medic-on, blue Ferrari head is gone
Look, I don’t like to aim my shit at any artist
With the winners in the bed with two majors
The way I zone is like the AC on
I’ve been killing microphones, bitch, killing microphones, bitch
Stop critiquing me, my detractors just couldn’t sell a record to the DMV
[Intro: Will Smith]
Move-making, nigga, with the business
Or how about with Soulja Draco?
When you talk to me minimize your tone
I got the kind of flow that destroy the place though
And she about to fix me dinner

The car odometer is on the bottom of all the numbers like you dial star pound
I spot a bitch nigga like Cyclops on Santa Monica
I sock niggas and give ’em disease like a irock
I’m the leader of CMB, doing 52 over speed bumps
I put your lights out like Edison
When I’m writing I’m just generalizing
Boo-yah, don’t be acting foolish
I’ve been killing microphones, killing microphones
How about I walk through the fire ’cause I’m hot and I got the golden gate flow?
People say that it make you softer to raise a daughter, but it made me harder
I used to chase the liquor with the Guinness
This a new phone, who this?
Went from palladiums to colosseum stadiums, you perform in the Reddit forum
Cash rules everything around me until I die
Product of a hard-working dedicated father with shortcomings
[Chorus]
You owe me money, run me that or do this
Looking right into the vanilla sky
How about you take your shot at Rihanna like I did when I said "hi"?
Just look around, I don’t own a thing that ain’t in HD
How about I box?
I play like KC and KG, you can’t even cage me
Smarter with the way I make dollars just to make sure she stay a baby baller

Royce Da 5’9″ – No Radio (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

I can’t help shit, lately I been ignoring rules
They figure you die, I learned they take away my wealth
This be the realest shit I ever wrote

Yeah, up in the studio getting blowed
It’s only so many times, I could let my temper get tested
(I) could have made you today, (I) could raise ya brow
I’m the truest MC, as hot as you need me to be, as cool as can be
All of that should cease, cause I feel like quitting
Wit Shady, and poping my glock on the block to dropping on Koch!

(I) learned to behave myself, people choose sides when

Every breath I breathe, every second I have
Truest shit I ever spoke
This be the realest shit I ever wrote
Royce is going to fucking kill you
This music is me, it’s no ruining me
Take myself away from my family, is so selfish
To be in the lab, wit young man, making a track at least
On a label that’s foul or made you on radio play
To blow up and grow up, back and away from this rapping beef shit
I do this music for me, I take time and put pride in it
True motherfuckers know
In the basement, rapping in peace, Patiently Waiting
(I) do my music and speak truly, without the influence of movies
(I) don’ been in the trenches for years, in this rap shit
Yeah, up in the studio getting blowed
I’m on the verge of doin some things, that won’t help – shit!
Where my name is mention is fear, compared to that shit
(I) could guide myself, through the game myself
I do this music for me, I take time and put pride in it

Ha, true motherfuckers know
Mistakes that I’ve made, I’ve learned to regret

This be the realest shit I ever wrote
All these niggas that used to page me, everyday that I dealt
Then I learned in any grade in my school
This music is me, it’s no ruining me
Give you the chills, kill hip hop, and save myself
Back to the factory, rap for ME, when I feel like spitting
Or these fools in the street, that wanna do me, nigga
You taking care of too many people, to go and lose
How can I go from rocking wit Dre, to falling out
Truest shit I ever spoke
But they all gone, y’all wrong, (I) page myself, because
I’m the truest MC, as hot as you need me to be, as cool as can be
Yeah, hopin you true motherfuckers know
Impatiently we blazing them AK’s, to earn the respect
Truest shit I ever spoke
If you was true as me, then this for you, but I do it for me
It’s Ryan, I just threw Detroit’s crown away!
If you was true as me, then this for you, but I do it for
I can’t handle it, I’ll eventually get arrested
(I) don’ paid my dues, (I) don’ learned more from my mistakes
Go out and kill a clown a day, don’t call me Royce no more
Yeah, up in the studio getting blowed

Royce Da 5’9″ – Combat (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

I’m NBA

Caps flying like we had a graduation
Evil D, I’m CTJ
This ain’t really what you want
Y’all PDA, I’m TNA

(5, 4, 3, 2, 1)
Y’all niggas actin’ like broads is all your fault, that Remy Ma the hardest rapper out
I got real nigga in my DNA
Got the K cocked, stay true
Gettin’ paid my TV rate

Niggas must want death by tomorrow, if you trying war with me today
My reality BDP
Fall back and get your car jacked while the engine masturbate the twin pipe
I found a girl who love me almost as much as Peter Rosenberg loves Kendrick Lamar
You ain’t built to fit in that jump suit
[Chorus]
I don’t got comrades
Y’all DVD
I’m in the streets where the movers at
[Chorus]
Y’all niggas story long, not me; I abbreviate:
[Verse 1]
I just want all my hoes who don’t know that they my hoes yet to act their ages
Everywhere I go, them niggas know I’m ready for combat
I don’t have to have a hit, shit could be a bunt
I just want to drive all my hoes crazy like the one that played That’s So Raven
True veteran, Sickening flow you couldn’t do better than
Lay a hand on me
Never been a star, but I’m blessed
Show up to your crib, dig a six foot hole, introduce you to your new residence
Have you land on him like Scoob and Scrap
[Verse 2]
Y’all CBA
I just wanna stay the fuck away from you and do a joint or two with Joyner Lucas
Y’all what all the flash and all the autographs about
Nothing but violence and rage in my DNA – it’s combat
All you ever gonna find in my DNA is combat
I’ll spray you and your homie
Show you you ain’t shit when I come through
Fuck a deal, fuck a VMA
Instead of battle rapping with you, I’d rather speak in rounds
Back to back with me blasting iron, ratchet waving
Everywhere I go, them niggas know I’m ready for combat
All you ever gonna find in my DNA is combat
I just ride with the gun, cash, and a good girl that’s gone bad
I be killing at will
And I ain’t really fascinated with your ‘Benz price

I beat you down
Y’all trying to box with a nigga that’ll beat your ass, but I’d much rather beat a case
Y’all industry, y’all industries where the Ubers at
I’m just tryna be the one who finally make Rihanna faithful
Everywhere I go, these niggas know I’m ready for combat
I’m the illest that live
Don’t even flinch at me – I’m James Brown
Was I the only one heartbroken when I found out French Montana fucked Sanaa Lathan?
I’m ready for combat
Y’all reality Stevie J
And I promise y’all I’m not a hater; I’m just aggravated
Everywhere I go, these niggas know I’m ready for combat
The roof is back, get in the car
Only time you heard about me backing up is the armoured truck beeping sound
I beef, y’all mediate
I innovate
Rae Carruth in a topless grey coupe

I’m ruthless black like Dr Dre crew
[Intro]
Y’all only do music with people ‘cos they hot, so your point is stupid
I’m super strapped with a rocket launcher – Google that
[DNA Beat Change]
Soon as one of y’all step by the bar I alleviate
Then I keep my .40 Glock on me. This has no safety on it, it’s fully loaded, there’s one in the chamber at all times, so that means if I need to, I just aim and squeeze
Shut the game down

Royce Da 5’9″ – Gov Ball (feat. Westside Gunn & Conway) (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

[Chorus: Royce Da 5’9" & Westside Gunn & Both]
Free all the real niggas locked [?] nigga
I’m back in eight balls
Though I’m God sent, I was sent through the light
Don’t trust my ways
$3K for the shades
I’m back in eight balls
$3K for the shades
I’m back in eight balls
Pussy, I’m never beefin’ on a record
I was born physically conflicted with Christ
Caking all summer
I guess you ‘spect me to wear dress shoes
Pink Bape hoodie, feel like the Harlem Cam
Leave niggas in sections
There’s only one of me
I’m fuckin’ they broads
She may just stay saner, I may just pull up in the wraith
Ay yo, these rap niggas at the governor ball
[Verse 3: Royce Da 5’9"]
One hundred shots in that magazine nigga
They passing around Moet bottles, but I don’t gossip

I’m back in eight balls
My shooter said, "Look, you don’t even gotta pay me
Now that’s a market plan, yeah
[Chorus: Royce Da 5’9" & Westside Gunn & Both]
What the fuck’d I do? Diss a whole bunch of pussy-ass rappers?
Lookin’ like half a fag
Lean by the pool

These rap niggas at the governor ball
But I can’t even fathom rap running me
I’m back in eight balls
These rap niggas at the governor ball
Y’all think these niggas tough These niggas…
Don’t trust my ways
All I do is real nigga shit like a
Or be wearin’ leather chaps with the pants underneath
Flow outta this world
I can easily imagine runnin’ rap
Lean by the pool
I just been down and diggin’ my crate
I’m fuckin’ they broads
Niggas rap good about them bricks
[Intro]
When bricks went on sale I was going insane
Ugly chain on purpose on my Nas shit
I’m back in eight balls
Everyy shirt sell out in minutes
Ain’t no rainbow
They playing basketball
Three stands for some noodles and I’m straight
I beat niggas to death
Lean by the pool
Wiggle and shake to get through my day
While all these rap niggas at the governor ball
Lil’ dirty nigga, type to piss and don’t wash his hands
Bout to have a glass of "flat tummy tea"
Check the score, the Rolex is gold

Ay yo, these rap niggas at the governor ball
These rap niggas at the governor ball
100 round plumb at least five in your brain
Twenty shots, every bullet in that cartridge land
[Chorus: Royce Da 5’9" & Westside Gunn & Both]
And be hangin’ with "Yes" dudes

My shooter been buggin’ since niggas off’ed his man
Thuggin’ for a purpose on my Pac shit
And the waist trainers, grab a washcloth
Where she play and just David Blaine her
That’ll teach niggas a lesson
I’m going old Lexus Hov, sellin’ blow
I’ma shoot the fuck nigga blocka for the fame"
$3K for the shades
I had to tell that bitch, "Don’t touch my Wades!"
Don’t trust my ways
I’m the martian man
We taking all comers
But never bought a gram
I’m in front of the stove wit’ it
Release three in your chest
While all these rap niggas at the governor ball
Well tell one of they pussy ass to link up with me then
If I reach it’s for a weapon
Ay yo, these rap niggas at the governor ball

Though I was meant to only exist in the night
I’m back in eight balls
Still duckin’ my third felony, I’m on skates
We playing take they ball from ’em
Follow Alicia Keys, make her face plainer
$3K for the shades
Nickel
[Verse 1: Westside Gunn]
Cause now they know the ribbon in the sky
Pieces of you left in the street nigga
Fuck the halfway house, I’d rather wait
I know what’s goin’ on
Spilled Perignon on my suede ’cause
I’m fuckin’ they broads
These rap niggas at the governor ball

I’m more than a street nigga, you guessed it
And end up on the moon
[Verse 2: Conway]
Grizelle is the illest, no debate
They gon’ change though
That nigga had to tell his boo
Get you whacked it only cost a band
Lean by the pool
Tell your wife chill out with the retweets
But I don’t think these niggas real killas
And in peace you niggas restin’
Yeah
While all these rap niggas at the governor ball
That nigga had to tell his boo
Machine nigga
And I don’t assume
Once you hit a nigga in the eye
That nigga had to tell his boo
Ay yo

Royce Da 5’9″ – Nickle-9Ne-Alooya (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

Please, consider respecting me, I’m willing to fucking pistol bust over it Now can you get the fuck over it?
I got your baby mama hyperactive, piping her while she asking the lord in Michael Blackson accent “Lord, what in the mother fuck?”
Y’all need to take a soul searching class
The smallest part of beef is gon always be all the things you utter bruh
Nickel-9ne-Alooya
My sense is keen and I got that ivory weighing on the triple beam while I dish a queen
Dre taught me to not oversaturate before he offered me a deal Dr.
And this is what you call in y’all bag, then I’m in a Goyard trunk
Call the shit murder the vertebrae then drop her off at the crib with vertigo
I believe you can speak some shit into existence, deleted my 9 to 5 narrative
And never talk about who’s gonna stop me!
Got em blindfolded, tying em up in leather like I’m Edward Scissorhands in some boxing gloves
Nigga that’s 20 million nickels, that equals 20 bitches and an island
I’m an addict, I personify arrogance
I’m just joking with my good friend, I’m just so in my happy place
Yeah, I survived a lot of savage shit
With ya ho fucking me, both hands stroking the pole looking like she tryna roll up a sleeve, I call it the turtleneck
Nickel-9ne-Alooya
Right before I got another offer for a dollar amount you know that I had to take
The bitch got the Arsenio Hall from “In Living Color” butt
My mind is so much more enlightening, who be tryna throw shade? I’m over here just destroying y’all sun
Gassin’ bitches and spittin’ petroleum
All my old bitches before you slit your wrists if you can’t stomach it get some Imodium
[Verse]
Y’all are karaoking with Dirty Harry, tearing your stereo into pieces
Letting the non-believers know I don’t need to go diamond Ryan, it’s forever bruh
Hell yeah nigga that’s a million dollars Now do I wanna pitch it down?
Never write about me like that
I’m a level up from buying stilettos to impress em
A lot of my courses were difficult, so of course the teacher would tell me I ain’t bout to be too much more than just a custodian
And now that all of that shit is clearly behind us, y’all really expect me to regret being 19 and going and getting a million dollars?
And that gave me a complex I’m still stricken with I call the shit the Napoleon
Nickel-9ne-Alooya
Ballin’ like I’m in the A-Town with Terio in the bleachers
Ain’t nobody gonna stop me!
Now I got a bitch so fine half the time I fuck her, rest the time I just stare at her
The only actual difference between me and the Holy Spirit is the Trinity and the podium
When I walk in the kitchen now I want the ho to kiss the toe and lick the linoleum
Nickel Hallelujah
No features, nobody scratching on it, this the I just been itchin’ edition
Hitting it just as if the chick was with the S&M S&M, I ain’t never stressin em y’all are the nervous wrecks
Next, I blow out her back while she sitting vertical on top of dick in a convertible
As a kid I used to just be looking pitiful
Bulletproof glass is on my ride, ride around here like the Vatican
Now you’re talking unlimited dimes, and a hundred million pennies
Nigga fuck you, that’s a million dollars, still a million dollars
Baby I’m getting cash money, getting the last laugh, the last word too

Ain’t a heavyweight in the world fast enough to stop me
Hallelujah nigga Hallelujah
Bar Exam 4 y’all, the there is no competition edition
I just know from my head to my toe I’m the greatest, y’all can keep ya ho and ya accolades
The Slaughterhouse album I’d like to drop it, the New Edition biopic came out and now Joe wanna be Bobby so fucking bad
I’ma need my headstone to say “y’all finished or y’all done?”
Never ever make me no underdog
I’ve been vibing like it’s Attica
[Intro: Muhammad Ali]
Never make me stick to one, it’ll just make me angry
I done seen it all, been through it all so you know I know what is what

Royce Da 5’9″ – Chopping Block (feat. Slaughterhouse) (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

A killer on a powder high, Game 7, Lebron clapping, I’ll have your
Mighta fucked one of you silver medalists wifey but
Come out that house, back to yo mom and yo papa spot
Then his condom popped
Either fact is a Papa Doc’s, back to your proper spot
Matter fact, who the fuck you know is harder than him?
Every night mom’s praying that they ain’t mopping me up
Transforming your anus like an Autobot
It’s obvious, somebody gotta be mocking us
Now as far as the bars varying, I’m barbarian
Assfucking a Cosmonaut
My mind deep as minin’ for diamonds, I raise MacGyver brow
Black snub that empty until they seal-freeze you
While she spitting in the hole of my dick

Since I been in a Mercedes my ladies relate to that quote
Turn that M.O.P. up
[?]
I put this Tec back and give you a gold black eye, blaow
You coward are out of luck, you Howards know how to duck
E’rbody I turned into ashes, believe they earned that
I’m Eminem’s negative picture, black GOAT
Oh man, we in slaughter mode, Paul Rosenberg, pallbearers and Em
I’m nice, cuz
Different me, same song, Bryson Tiller agrees
Still the illest spitting, getting rid of powder puffs
Joey
Kill ’em before they body rot
Shit, I blew checks before I was verified
I’m from the era of gang culture and crack smoke
Say the gang broke up, shit, it wasn’t the gang
I been on another level since I came into the industry
Tell ’em that I’m contracted You see them lames?
I really don’t understand why these imposters are popular
Really I’m saving you, your label’s raping you
None given, I’m out of fucks, uh
Mask, gloves, and empties that would conceal diesel
A coward dies a thousand deaths, tells a thousand lies
You hit rock bottom and go get your bottom rocked
Nickle
Crook
I heard your album, all sound like filler to me
I can’t believe I just sat back and told that lie
Spinal column out of your body right by you and your bodyguard looking like lasagna and cottage fries
Fuck a verse, when it’s family it just run in your veins
I changed up for the future, my mask was off in the past
I could box, that’s why niggas opt to not
Crooked was born to defeat the odds a lot
He-Man, Hanna-Barbera action figure
Rap niggas back on the chopping block What?
And hit parks and bargain a dream and step to the Carter regime
[Verse 1: Royce Da 5’9”]
To keep your wife from screaming out Jesus Christ she can bite the towel
I been as real as could be
You prolly like it but keeping it lowkey, bottom lock
It’s getting hot, you can feel the degrees
Makes that other pussy not worth it
During Hanukkah ‘stead of rocking his Yamaka
If I give a nigga a shiner consider the shit designer

I can’t fight you cause, you might adjust my Midas touch
I use they bodyparts to paint a Basquiat
Happy to be back guys
Skip rap, let’s talk real people
And it could be onsight before a nigga even see you
Back to the county, back to three hots in a hostel cot
To this day I die laughing with niggas who really kill people
With the llama I’m a farmer, I’m outstanding in my field
Same goal when niggas was bumping Scott LaRock
Screaming "What’s popping Ak’?" Red bean, cocking shots
My skill is a dead giveaway if you will, now that’s wordplay
Its like my sole purpose is giving my soul’s purpose
I rap dope ’cause that was an escape for poor black folk
Tryna be hot as me or tryna see eye to eye
Who you know is an uncharted team parted with lean
Come out your house without your pride
And I know that he listening
My life is foul sometimes I wish I could write this down
Y’all just lie, y’all just falsify, y’all should be ostracized
With that said, no proceeding, gimme lethal
I philosophize, social stylist, them shits so timeless
I’m just tryna stop you like my father was tryna stop me
Y’all should not be allowed to run alongside my whip with the ostrich eye
She receiving pipe from the nicest, my mic is Riker’s Isle
I’m five minutes from perfect timing I’m like the price is down
Give this bitch the biz, Markie, I beatbox a lot
[Verse 3: KXNG CROOKED]
A highroller, Cairo’ed like I’m Chyna and Tyga child
We are not friends, we just connected dot to dot
2Pac told us all America eats is babies
Somethin’ sneakerheads usually leave in the box on the feet, hold up
Any given Thursday you gon’ get with the church play
But the way shorty neck is positioning
Retire or apologize, or die, you looking right in the fire
Rap niggas back on the chopping block
Arms stiffer than Shawn Marion when he ball-carrying
Who’d be left if the social media era died?

Upset, veins popping out of her neck, she give me mad throat
I’m confused like seeing my Jewish homie rocking a swastika
My nigga Nottz on the beat
Obviously, honesty’s not your policy
I’m two seconds from smacking somebody face hard as hell
And wash Carhartt jeans, hard as it seem
She a head doctor minus the lab coat
That’s right, rappers back on the chopping block
Come out the colossal rocks back to your fossil watch
Stomp you till you feel like you living in Waka Flocka’s sock
While Stevie Wonder gawking at Rihanna’s exotic, erotic body through the wrong side of some top dollar binoculars
I don’t start but I finish you with a earth nap

Money wide in my pocket mocking that Hasim Rahman knot
Beg for your pardoning, your bothersome bar schemes
I slaughter militant rhymers, hold up
[Verse 2: Joell Ortiz]
That’s why I’m asking how they iller than me?
That’s ride by, dash off and we laugh
Rap niggas back on the chopping block
Same goal though niggas swear you shocking, jock
Holy organs, I mean it in the worst way
She just want a confidant, her man want a problem? Stop
Was all part of going bored to some bars to barking
[Outro: Joe Budden]
Joell
His days’ll be numbered like a calendar, that’s the caveat
I put my foot in yo’ ass with all my old verses
I’m up top getting mop from Mia, mama mia
Yeah, rap niggas back on the chopping block
Bloggers’ll beat on my meat if Detox leak
[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
In lobbies where they never mopped the pee up
40 caliber loud as fuck, for now it’s tucked
Dice game with the re-up
This should be fossilized
I know the Dre that did beef before the Dre that did beats
And when it come to being an incredible spitter, my nigga

Royce Da 5’9″ – Line In The Sand (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

I don’t like coonin’ unless you Mary Blige singing for chicken

Nobody round this bitch is better than me
Hoes finding Vanity from The Last Dragon tryin’ to romance the master
You the competition? Only props I’ll give is you bout good as dead
Bar Exam, where is the competition?
My nigga King Los just tweeted out he the best
Now process that, I might just drop a track where Jim Hoffa at
Y’all hopeless, every time y’all spit it I just envision lies

Birthday instead of cake, I keep a pie lit like I’m landin’ a plane
Embracin’ crime like I’m supposed to die

Take your broad, show her more than just a front door and call that shit Lurch
Prototype of pulverizing mics, avoid life’s
Any supposedly ill rapper can get it for free
[Intro]
Everything on your mind that be on your lap like private dancers trappin
The gods focus, I ball doper than Lamar Odom already wishin’ a nigga would
We can flow for keeps, go til either one of us slumped over the speaker dead
You facin’ an ethernet
And no this ain’t no Kendrick Control move
I look at opinions like I look at lickin’ an asshole, I respectfully disagree with that
And even though I think these guys are three of the freshest, ever
Bar Exam 4, this is the "There is No Competition Edition", my nigga
My foot on the ledge tripping on all these woulda been, coulda been, shoulda been terrace(?)
I’m more the type to go incite the riot
You need to hire a yes man to talk you off your competitve edge
I’ll put three in your cap, it’s not a good time to try and chance the rapper
Bar Exam 4, this is the "There is No Competition Edition", my nigga
Nah, I’m old school, still trying to dance with Patra
My nigga Ab-Soul say he the best
Like Charles Oakley, in the Wizard of Oz
Bar Exam 4, this is the "Where is the Competition Edition", my nigga
And even though I think these guys are three of the freshest, ever
Cyhi know he the best?
My nigga King Los just tweeted out he the best
Not of this Earth trying to be godly of death cause I was Gotti at birth
Bar Exam 4, this is the "Where in the Fuck is the Competition", nigga
Even if smack ain’t got the fee correct
Cyhi know he the best?

I like guns more, you the type to knife
I’m more the candy paint type, you more the Mike and Ike
Might as well write a lot of these verses while I’m inside of a hearse
How could you Violate somebody who got Chris Lighty wisdom, who never bluff
The face of crime, like I’m the closing eye’s poster guy
We can agree to disagree, we can leave it at that, or we can bet
My niggas got they rags and sticks in the sky, like they hitchin’ a ride
We can go for broke til things get repossessed
This just a flow that never gets old, Malinda Williams in Soul Food
Hand on the Desert Eagle squeezing the reapers neck
[Refrain]
Call me "so polite", dawg you Molson Ice
I’m from the ‘Mo, I’m more the type to drive the Ghost tonight like I’m the Poltergeist
Throw hollows and watch them go in your body as though they got invited
Bar Exam, where is the competition?
Rollercoaster ride through polarizing alcoholic lows and highs
You takin a decease in that, I’m hoping to be the next
My nigga Ab-Soul say he the best
I look at opinions like I look at lickin’ an asshole, I respectfully disagree with that
Uh, I’m sitting here counting this grip cuz I be standing for change
Bar Exam, where is the competition?
This bigger than any kind of redemption this is Andy Dufresne
My discography just like a map to rapper body bags
I’m more the type to hold the door, I’m nice
[Verse]
I don’t do memes and bickering, I see you out swing for the fences
Feared, revered rappers, Lupe Fiasco, tweet or text
The flyest nigga livin’ reside inside the land of the fame
Greatest of all time, while these hard lines shake up the web
Them twin rifles is coming out looking like Blue Ivy siblings, better trust
There is no competition
Prolly gonna be the first artist to add a body to his body of work

Royce Da 5’9″ – Play My Music (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

Unloadin’ loaded Glocks, patrollers rollin’ by
That’s my children’s hand, that’s my hero man
While I fuck my bitch in Calabasas, that’s that 4 AM
Dirt all on my hands, blood all on my hands
Manicure my hands, that’s that polish man
While I got that [drakeo pram, got that dako pram?]
And it fit me like a fucking glove, that’s that OJ fam
Shit just might get greezy for them Jacksons, that’s that Tito, blam
I ain’t talkin’ ’bout two different jewels, I got a jeweler fool
Hope it ain’t your time to die tonight, that’s that sweeto man
Tell your bitch to shut a bitch, she do it, that’s that slapper plan
Everyday I’m makin’ change at the park when I go meet my man for that ticket, that’s that meter man
That’s that Ricky Rose plan, that’s them OJ’s plan
Had to throw my hands, that’s that wylin’ man
Imposter snakes on hand, watch you shake your hand
My bitch be actin’ like she tryna kill a nigga in the sack like Dominic Leru my nigga, that’s that Creole fam
Red dot on a nigga head, that’s that Pakistan
I blow the locks right off your apartment though like it’s your total shop
[Outro]
That’s my video on Vevo, that’s that kilogram
[Verse]
Any man who disrespect me any kind of way gon’ catch it every kind of way, that’s that OBJ
I just popped a band-aid off the bands, that’s that doctor plan
You throw the dice, you rollin’ though, you hot, or broke and old, you not
That’s that Stevie plan, that’s that Beatles plan
Somebody got to die tonight, I’m [sippin’ tonics?], fam
I said, I got that C. Lo plan, got that Migos plan
That’s that prisoner’s plan, that’s that princester’s plan
I ain’t play that big today, ’cause that faith was playin’
Other children’s hand, that’s my car they hero land
That’s that Michael Jackson plan, that’s that Beat It fam
That’s that UFO, that’s that take me to your leader man
That’s that Jay-Z plan, that HOV plan
Murder, it never show my hands, that’s psychotic man

I got manuever so they follow what I do and say
It’s gon’ predict my whole day
Since he’s never one to pull up on me, that’s that traffic jam
That Panamera tighty-white, that’s that Speedo plan
That shit there don’t even match, that’s that faithful fan
Now I’m definitely buying recklessly in front the FED’s and IRS’s nigga, that h-o-t way
She was just a virgin when we met, so I murdered that shit
Y’all just popped a molly, prolly popped a Xan’
The static from that vinyl, that’s that needle plan
[Intro]
Classic gypsy band, that’s that Hendrix plan
Bought that Paul McCartney and Ferrari’s plan

Classics don’t retire, let that Kobe play
That shit Detroit radio be playin’, that’s that insta-jam
That’s that C.O. man, that’s my P.O., damn
Flossin’ ain’t the same, that’s that dental plan
Couple people had to keep the mad at this is man ’cause he keeps begging me to drink again, that drag you with me plan
I’m serious with all my moves while my music play
Prayin’ for my downfall, that’s that evil plan
I had gorillas see you with bananas, that Safari plan
44 pop right out of the compartment like I’m Robocop
Got that mass appeal, that’s that Primo plan
Made a couple dollars, might’ve copped a jewel or two
I gotta move accordingly to how the music move
While I’m saying sorry and tryna get her back
Baddest night is playin’, I’m glad this night is playin’

Royce Da 5’9″ – Crack Baby Skit (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

Biggie] [Sample: "Queen Bitch" – Lil’ Kim ft.
Uhh!
It’s better than 2Pac and Biggie, then ain’t got shit on you

*Static*
[Skit]
*Record Scratch*
Say that again

(Last time)

"I’m better than 2Pac and Biggie"
"I’m better than 2Pac and Biggie"
You niggas got some audacity
*Static*
[Kodak Black – Profile Interview for XXL Freshman 2016]
What’d you say? What’d you say?

Royce Da 5’9″ – Beats Keep Callin (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

(If Young Metro don’t trust you, I’m gon’ shoot you)
I ain’t just the R, I’m every different letter
I seen some people reaching they dreams, some people destroyed
I’m talking ’bout the self-proclaimed "King of Detroit"
Zoning off the bottle, we only taught to fight back
This ain’t four-wheelin’, roll with coke, heroin, ‘caine
What you niggas know ’bout making a move in a beef and truly committin’?

Taking me to your leader is like showing Chuck Norris where a glass door is
Using that money counter, getting rid of them funny ones
And everything I say come natural, in this thing of beauty, like Alicia Keys face
My parents keep callin’, the Lord keeps watchin’
Slaughterhouse, my mind’s two tons, hardest out like John Q’s son
And anywhere I go, all of these whores be jockin’
Hundred yard dash through the hood, talking money runs
[Part 1: "Bad and Boujee" & "FuckWithMeIKnowYouGotIt" Remix]
My parents keep callin’, the Lord keeps watchin’
Brought the dog for, recording harsh thoughts for the art form
I remember when I had to pawn all my jewelry
My future look like juju in a body suit
Next minute, you happy man, next minute, you sloppy drunk
A nigga had to bite down, bite down
[Outro]
Porter don’t trust you, I’m gon’ bust you, nigga Mr.
"Fam" this, borrow that, loyal this, trust that
I don’t want another man’s cheap-ass ways on my doormat
Let the Tech N9ne go KC, MO., bro
Bangin dope-dealin-Hov and No-Ceilings Wayne
I’m Jae Millz looking up at the sky like, "Ayo B.I.G, am I good yet?"
That’ll in a shallow grave, casualty of a cabaret
Back in high school, I really clowned
I can give your chick eleven inches if she let me get the leverage
I said I’d do the right thing if Rosie let me ice cube them titties now
Voodoo and como talle vous
Whatever, whatever, whatever
And your favorite rapper act like Eric Andre
All I could do was bite down, bite down, down
I had to bite down, bite down
This that "your career’s over" flow, for real
Simple you against me you ain’t ridin’ with me

Even when we deal with Saturdays, my children still know that
COs frisking your pregnant bitch, turning your kids away, thataway

[Refrain]
[Intro]
If I ain’t wake up from ’em, I won’t ask what y’all would do
Was so embarrassed by the help that no one offered to me

I move like that nigga Spike Lee when he was Mookie
I seen people die at the hands of the violence of man
I’m the first one gunnin’, last one runnin’
How can I be hated in the streets, when I’m on even on my off day
Make sure everything under your lip cut and your shirt is tucked in
I had people out to get me, my album wasn’t even out yet
Seen people shot out the sky, being fly as they can
Mannequin challenging whole families, viva la drunk
Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jekyll, Nickel Nine, Ricky Grimes
[Interlude]
Throwing money hitting everybody and they auntie up
[Chorus]
I can be president of hip-hop which is let me switch endeavors
That’ll have whoever acting hardcore
Last war I stay strapped for it
I’m creative when it’s beef, while you throw salt, I’m your baby mama and them new salt bae
I’m standing on the corner with my boys, beat boxin’
And everything you say greasy and made up like a piece of cheesesteak
It ain’t no squashing it after you push a certain button
When you niggas gon’ admit it?
You ain’t on-point though, one minute, you popping trunks
All we did was write raps, tryna get so drunk
When it’s hard to understand me ’cause my jaws keeps lockin’
Whatever, whatever
I’m French kissing with a "bitch you" mentality
I got the arm out the black beatle, beating the drum
Molotov through your restaurant window
Fuck sipping 40 ounces, I’m sober out here, fucking hoes like 40 oz Van
Whatever, whatever, whatever
Seen ’em split the pie up and Pam sniff her entire two grams
They keep callin’ ya
I do this shit the ski mask way, like I’m Lil Kodak
Nigga I’m Pusha T doing quiet numbers, getting silent money, I’ll retire from it, I don’t dress loud, I throw the flyness on it
They keep callin’ ya
When it’s hard to understand me ’cause my jaws keeps lockin’
Every January 1st, the ball keeps droppin’
Burning your beard away with Magic Shave
And anything I do from legal to illegal
They keep callin’ ya
Even when you shoot your lil uzi vertical in broad day
You can find me anywhere the crime wave
While I’m just tryna stay outta jail
By now, my life’s so righteous, I don’t even sleep with groupies
[Verse]
I’m on bando time when I ride through cities
They keep callin’ ya
It’s Nickel Season, the fever’s begun
Daughter calling some wack nigga "daddy" at movie matinees
When you a fiend for the rhythm and the beats just keep callin’ ya
But this is realer than movie depictions

I don’t stand my ground, I just demolish niggas
Or Bobby, Whitney, flow K-Ci, JoJo
You know the ones, too wrinkled to go in them slot machines
[Verse 1]
I’m Sylvester Mindbender
Lawyers, with those in power tryna blackball ya
The dogs keep barkin’ at the top dog
With those who told ya they adore tryna back-door ya
Never did I dumb it down or did I settle
It’s hard to find employers like accountants that’s loyal
[Part 2: "Lockjaw" Remix]
Ryan’s still alive, played nice ’cause the drama still flies
They already lost it, nigga, it’s a lost cause
Bitch not only do I kiss and tell, I’m Orlando Brown when I describe them titties
I’m Rick the Ruler in every different measure
‘Cause it’s hard to really focus when you’re tryna stack for ya
And I’m just celebrating it at the mall, we shoppin’
Made some bad decisions so early on in the process
That I’m better than the youngins, that I’m better than the legends
Loaded cartridges, stolen cars with the Lowenharts
Bite down, bite down, I had to
I’m savage, even though my tat issa knife, I’m keeping a gun
That thang pop, pop pop
And I’m just having an open workout in Heaven, tryna get me a good sweat
Doing parkour, I’ma dog Porter
Like you still tryna kill God

Throw ’em on the titty bar floor to lower a thot esteem
When you a fiend for the rhythm and the beats just keep callin’ ya
Y’all can run while the gats blowing
And if I miss your ass, then I guess you saved by the bell, like Zack Morris

Started out like Nas, shoot gun, heavy is the head with the crown
Trying to find someone to come perform for me ‘fore I fuck the whole entire country up

Before my time R.I.P. Bobby Krissy
I’m Schwarzenegger, you Sarah Conner
I’m standing on the corner with my boys, beat boxin’
Let the labels talk and Desiigner mumble like Donald Trump
Bone chilling, cold with no feelings
I spark fours, that’ll arch floors
I’m the rubberband man, but I do more than count bands
You could be the hottest thing and still have the wrong team
[Verse 2]
While I’m hula hoopin’ dollars for that snarly tooth
Comas after comas that were alcohol induced
I narrow down shit the Farrakhan way

Any rapper that want it, I’m Wack 100
And anywhere I go, all of these whores be jockin’
Too enlightened for a check (yeah)
Rip the game apart and you are not worthy like Wayne & Garth
[Chorus]
We only talk survival, walking home, we just might scrap
Had to get my sight back, product of the old gun
Slipping, now we in your crib to tie up your fam

Celebrating friendships, "Bro" this, "Cuz" that
Invite ’em to a scrap (yeah)
Sometimes to see the bigger picture, you need a wider screen
I’ll assault they a la carte tray

Royce Da 5’9″ – Wait A Minute (The Bar Exam 4 Album)

I’m prime away from fucking mating with her
All I’m tryna hear today is trap and drill
Got the cash holding on line two, brink trucks noise on one
Closest you gon’ be to laying in your name
Wait a motherfucking minute
I’m typhooning through this weather
Wait, wait, wait, wait a minute
I’m just tryna motivate her, I’m just popping shit
You popping molly with the actors
I’m going harder than Tha Carter X
This the traumatize your favorite rapper year
Around dough like Rajon
[Verse]
Give him back to him a little PHresher
Been dropping gems since I grew up
I’m Compton menace on school bus
The odd couple
Wait a motherfucking minute
Then the world’s gon get the AIDS like some 1984 sex
I’m tycooning through the pressure
The target’s been destroyed, boo ya
I might do a nigga beat for ’em
I’ve been going crazy on these records way before Flex
It’s feeling like iFunny with the memes
But I ain’t saying I distribute Kane
Babies on top of babies
Like a Soulja Boy home invader
I sent a cannonball right at the cannon barrel
Forty pounder full of death wish
I’m most def with immigration
You had a chain, now it’s your nigga chain
Then I come and rip the stage down more like Trey Songz
Through your grandma chair, through your granite counter
Wait a motherfucking minute
I’m Talib Kweli with the blackness
These nerds rapping for attention
Buying guns and getting beams
Wait a motherfucking minute
I flip the blade like "say something"
Phantom or the ‘Vette, Tammy Lahren, Charlamagne shit
If I say it’s fuck the world then the world’s getting fucked
You a lame, you from Twitter fame
I get a whole clip to all my haters
Eighty million different ways
Feel me, nigga, this is God hustle
I’m live from it with the streams
I’m looking at your year end list
I fucked the baddest of the white bitches
Body bag after body bag
Through your wall, closet, through your damn apparel
They on a lean, molly, Percocet trip
It’s documented, boy, prove what?
I’m giving all my hoes an ultimatum, she my mascot
Who be rapping what their friends did
Let you rip the stage
Wait, wait, wait a minute
I know you heard I’m back in business
Tyler fucking Creator with it
When I’m finished with it
I got to feel this void move, bruh
Wait, wait, wait a minute
This the homicide related racketeer
Wait, wait, wait a minute
I’m Murs rapping for the Guinness
Wait, wait, wait a minute
Just so I could go and get exonerated
Topping, I ain’t tryna stop it ’till you standing on the doorstep
Casanova with the rifle, fuckboy, don’t run
It’s all downhill from here like Jack and Jill
Face down on your computer keys sleep
I watch you niggas go tool up
Wait, wait, wait a minute
Wait a minute, nigga
Wait one fucking minute
She just getting ass shot
I bend her over, stick her on the expensive car
Prefer to slap you over engine
I’m birds flapping independent
Y’all them Barnum Bailey boys
This the bad half Shady vortex, armed in navy warfare
Ladies on top of ladies
Toolie ratchets and extensions
Category slaughter gang shit
Money counter full of blessings
We already got the message
I’m Mos Def with immigration
Wait a goddamn minute
Running around here since "The Message"
You guys coming with your teams
I’m Cold Chillin’ on the record business
Leave a trail laying in your lane
Best to back the fuck up or get smacked the fuck up eighty million different ways
Wait, wait, wait a minute
Of the man upstairs, nigga, you’re next
For a word from Vlad or Akademik
We done already heard their best shit
Think I found what real success is
You’re choosing rappers you’re friends with