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“Wait a minute, Am I on crack?
Cause this ain't it
This f**king blows
Tell Cactus Jack’s CEO to admit
This ain't lit
I know that I couldn't commit
Wanted my sack back
So I split
Yep, called it quits
Now I don't have to hold back
I can spit low on the microphone to the clit
Now its f**king lit hoe (ITS LIT!)
On the bench where the crows lives
French kissing Liz
Then mixing my track like a pro
Then spit a rap toe to toe
Till you get a role at Cactus Jack
What the fack?

What the heck?
Three thousand checks that says “air” over Ye’s clay stripes
High key what's the hype?
Anyway Imma try to get that vibe
Smoke a peace pipe
With the native tribe
Go bar for bar on the kick and the snare
By that ancient tree
Watch “See You Yesterday”
By Spike Lee
Pull a Swae Lee
Decide whatever I see in my way that I got no type
Man, I can rest on the chair feeling free
f**k, I feel alive that I got no strings attached to me
I can wipe my bank account bare buying three to five pairs of pine greens
Now got my eyes glaring on a bright green Supreme hoodie

Just kidding
Let me dismiss that they all fake aboogie’s ex girl’s booty
Not the type to flex
Rather take that risk and say my rhymes creully
Going at someone's neck to dropping six nukes from a jet in Call Of Duty
Sweat dripping down my head
Feeling drowsy since that last kiss
Driving this glossy red Audi

With the tricky specs of a complex
Hot brunett of the oppsite sex
In the city trippin over her “big shot” ex Jimmy
Feeling twitchy with a mixture of pot and percocets
Regrets every spot of a hickey on her neck
But wants the same shot of respect like Malcom X
Really?

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