[Intro: Chris Webby]
Yeah
[Verse 1: Chris Webby]
You can spot a fire by watching the Spotifiers
They just press play on my shit and they start a fire
Ride 'til I die, 'til there's no groove left on the tires
Chillin' at home like umpires
While I write my next shit, lay it down and flex it
From the booth to the marketplace let the checks hit
Treating every song like an individual investment
Underground king of my coast, eatin' shellfish
With a bad bitch, 'cause we all gon' die
So this lifе I got, I live right
You can all try, but can't outsmart me, 'cause my
Intеllectual's on the level of A.I.
I learn by defeat, check the battling scars
Bitch, most of you can't even step to half of my bars
You fucking pussy, run your mouth while you actin' all hard
You probably wear your rubber gloves and face mask in the car
With your windows rolled up, trying not to get sick
But shit, I been sick for years, my therapist
Told me if we wrote down all my problems, it'd be a list
So long even Santa Claus couldn't check this
Let alone check it twice, fuck naughty and nice
I'm so bad, having coal in my stocking's a way of life
Kerosene in one hand while the other got a light
Hear a— then I'm calling it a night, Webby
Yeah
[Verse 1: Chris Webby]
You can spot a fire by watching the Spotifiers
They just press play on my shit and they start a fire
Ride 'til I die, 'til there's no groove left on the tires
Chillin' at home like umpires
While I write my next shit, lay it down and flex it
From the booth to the marketplace let the checks hit
Treating every song like an individual investment
Underground king of my coast, eatin' shellfish
With a bad bitch, 'cause we all gon' die
So this lifе I got, I live right
You can all try, but can't outsmart me, 'cause my
Intеllectual's on the level of A.I.
I learn by defeat, check the battling scars
Bitch, most of you can't even step to half of my bars
You fucking pussy, run your mouth while you actin' all hard
You probably wear your rubber gloves and face mask in the car
With your windows rolled up, trying not to get sick
But shit, I been sick for years, my therapist
Told me if we wrote down all my problems, it'd be a list
So long even Santa Claus couldn't check this
Let alone check it twice, fuck naughty and nice
I'm so bad, having coal in my stocking's a way of life
Kerosene in one hand while the other got a light
Hear a— then I'm calling it a night, Webby
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