[Verse 1: Apathy]
I could talk bitches out of they jeans
Gold diggers out of they cream
Little wannabe rap muthafuckas out of they dreams
I'm slick, I could talk a hustler out of his fiends
I rap so hot, the water in my spit becomes steam
I'm like a pound of uncut coke when hittin' the scene
Y'all are powder particles that trickled off the triple beam
Stop trippin', little chicken, I ain't payin', I'm pimpin'
If ya waitin' for trickin' then you should date a magician
Wake up and listen, and keep this in the back of your mind
My thoughts are heavy, the weight alone could fracture your spine
Cats swear to God they high, hearin' Apathy's rhymes
And hold a torch up to trees like the back of a dime
These little backpack faggots probably jacked my lines
But like divorce with no prenup, half of it's mine
Y'all are just bitches (Esoterodactyl got morgues to fill)
While Ap's on a mission to make green like clorophyll
[Verse 2: Esoteric]
My team drops bread like chicks on health kicks
Ya squad could rock Bird throwbacks and couldn't "sell ticks"
I melt shit with the words I spit
Steven King, disturbed and sick
You know Shay's killin' rappers that be speakin' on their dealin' coke days
Only birds you ever flipped was due to road rage
Only gray you ever pushed was due to old age
Bomb grower? Nah dude, the only weed you ever moved was with lawn mowers
You ain't traffickin' shit
No package in the back of the whip
No gats, no clips, why you rockin' that watch still?
Only archeologists check for iced-out Fossils
Is this a vintage affair? Them Jordans isn't that rare
Plus they so dingy they resemble my original pair
Servin' AotP? That'd be a head trip
Like a Cali-bred Crip rockin' Cincinnatti Reds shit
I could talk bitches out of they jeans
Gold diggers out of they cream
Little wannabe rap muthafuckas out of they dreams
I'm slick, I could talk a hustler out of his fiends
I rap so hot, the water in my spit becomes steam
I'm like a pound of uncut coke when hittin' the scene
Y'all are powder particles that trickled off the triple beam
Stop trippin', little chicken, I ain't payin', I'm pimpin'
If ya waitin' for trickin' then you should date a magician
Wake up and listen, and keep this in the back of your mind
My thoughts are heavy, the weight alone could fracture your spine
Cats swear to God they high, hearin' Apathy's rhymes
And hold a torch up to trees like the back of a dime
These little backpack faggots probably jacked my lines
But like divorce with no prenup, half of it's mine
Y'all are just bitches (Esoterodactyl got morgues to fill)
While Ap's on a mission to make green like clorophyll
[Verse 2: Esoteric]
My team drops bread like chicks on health kicks
Ya squad could rock Bird throwbacks and couldn't "sell ticks"
I melt shit with the words I spit
Steven King, disturbed and sick
You know Shay's killin' rappers that be speakin' on their dealin' coke days
Only birds you ever flipped was due to road rage
Only gray you ever pushed was due to old age
Bomb grower? Nah dude, the only weed you ever moved was with lawn mowers
You ain't traffickin' shit
No package in the back of the whip
No gats, no clips, why you rockin' that watch still?
Only archeologists check for iced-out Fossils
Is this a vintage affair? Them Jordans isn't that rare
Plus they so dingy they resemble my original pair
Servin' AotP? That'd be a head trip
Like a Cali-bred Crip rockin' Cincinnatti Reds shit
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