Post Traumatic Trust Issues Chris Crack (Ft. Your Old Droog)

[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
Sometimes I gotta get away, lay low [?]
What you know when I get back to the
Iron mics, we dueling, dropped out in ninth grade
I couldn’t do the schooling, and the block was too hot
So in the stew we cooling, take my jacket off
Kicking up my feet, order grub to the lab
Doggie I swear I eat, that’s been the truth
So in the booth is where I rest my dome, but I’m bone
So I wherever I lay my raps my home
We got refreshments, pack of Altoids, that’s some freshness
For from freshmens, post up by the boards
Finessing sessions, [?] to come and test wild d
It be the ending near, pull your files like a engineer
Without no pro-tools, I demote fools, bring ‘em
Down to Fruity Loops, no Ableton, shoulda done this younger
Wasn’t able then, was some reckless ass kids
Now we stable men, learned to be be smart consumers
Read the labelling, on tour I fucks with the shawties
But we ain’t in the telle watching Maury, I need somebody
To record me, everywhere I go I spark a bowl then mark
My territory, come back home off the road, like wanna hear a story

[Chorus: Chris Crack]
They wouldn’t let my bitch in the club
They wouldn’t let my bitch in the club
They wouldn’t let my bitch in the club
They wouldn’t let my bitch in the club