[Verse 1: Von Pea]
Listening' to rachet
Music made by niggas with bachellors
Feeling some kind of way
Really it's a mask or
Masquerade, these labels are after slaves anyway
You get what you paid for
But launder what I take off
They said if I switch up persona I'mma take off
I said "If I lift up this llama y'all will break north"
Pap-pap-pap-pap
Y'all thought I was way soft
That don't make me hard
It either make me a liar or a felon
But either way I'm rapping so it's not like I embellish
BK is in my blood, not a Nets or a Knicks fan
We the home team, I'm a checks and a kicks fan
Never scuffing it, strip clubs on payday
Chicks with fake asses, looking like Shanaynay
Y'all prefer 'em in glasses
Out of them spinning classes
Got 'em singing in my living room like Ray J
[Verse 2: Quelle Chris]
Mayday to the shayday, fall apart
Ayy M, you missed a payday, me and you
I'm tired of eating rappers, what's next on the menu?
If I don't think you fly then why would I pretend to?
Seems you into, ruinin' instrumentals
Ew with all that doodoo coming out your pens and pencils
The only sound piece of advice that I could lend you
Is keep doing what you're doing, it makes me look better
Ain't nobody even checking for you anyway
See me out, you want to politic or spark a J
I'll be like "Too bad man, I just stopped smoking yesterday."
Now can my niggas just kick back and wax upon these random beers?
Listening' to rachet
Music made by niggas with bachellors
Feeling some kind of way
Really it's a mask or
Masquerade, these labels are after slaves anyway
You get what you paid for
But launder what I take off
They said if I switch up persona I'mma take off
I said "If I lift up this llama y'all will break north"
Pap-pap-pap-pap
Y'all thought I was way soft
That don't make me hard
It either make me a liar or a felon
But either way I'm rapping so it's not like I embellish
BK is in my blood, not a Nets or a Knicks fan
We the home team, I'm a checks and a kicks fan
Never scuffing it, strip clubs on payday
Chicks with fake asses, looking like Shanaynay
Y'all prefer 'em in glasses
Out of them spinning classes
Got 'em singing in my living room like Ray J
[Verse 2: Quelle Chris]
Mayday to the shayday, fall apart
Ayy M, you missed a payday, me and you
I'm tired of eating rappers, what's next on the menu?
If I don't think you fly then why would I pretend to?
Seems you into, ruinin' instrumentals
Ew with all that doodoo coming out your pens and pencils
The only sound piece of advice that I could lend you
Is keep doing what you're doing, it makes me look better
Ain't nobody even checking for you anyway
See me out, you want to politic or spark a J
I'll be like "Too bad man, I just stopped smoking yesterday."
Now can my niggas just kick back and wax upon these random beers?
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