Fake Fans The Underachievers

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Listen, listen, listen

[Verse 1: Issa Gold]
Everybody tryna get up on our shit
Talking 'bout they're elevated, they don't know the half of it
Tryna get up in our posse, we got rules like fucking Nazis
Gotta pop a acid-hit and let it drip like A$AP Rocky, hold up
Catch me in SOHO with my team we're riding 'dolo
Hugging all my fans givings ends up to the hobos
Walk around the store can't tell I'm high, you smell the dro though
If you don't fuck with the gang man you ain't gettin' any photos
Let me stop it, all joints be rockets
Shit ain't nothing roll another, got a half O in my pocket
I sweat the topic, they call me a prophet
Making music, fucking third eye and the close their other sockets

[Hook: Issa Gold]
Spit this conscious shit and all these other rappers fronting
'bout to fuck the whole game up while I'm toking, it ain't nothing
Be that indigo, you know, reppin' for that golden soul
Gotta get in where you fit in, you ain't with it gotta go
Can't fuck with niggas man, can't fuck with niggas man
They said they bout it, they ain't bout it, they ain't with the plan
Can't fuck with niggas man, can't fuck with niggas man
I keep a fucking closed circle, you ain't with the gang