[Verse 1: Domo Genesis]
|
Yo, um, yo
|
Oh so cocky, you can't stop me in this old Versace
|
Nigga watch me in the streets like it's roller hockey
|
Your bitch is floppy, givin' sloppy while she call me papi
|
Takin' the doggies right to the face like she Kobiyashi
|
You niggas' flow is washy, I'm gettin' mines dry cleaned
|
Tight seam, it might seem, I'm sellin' bitches pipe dreams
|
Hi fiends, I'm back with a bag of them packed white things
|
My nikes clean, I see these niggas hatin' through my ice blings
|
I'm a bad motherfucker, I ain't use a rubber
|
Super lover, so soon you say hello to your newest brother
|
The truest colors what I bleed, but you ain't seen enough of
|
Nigga leakin', you gon' have to go see the deacon you stupid suckah
|
Young Dom, say you old niggas should wrap it up
|
You wack, focus back on the craft, you hardly rap enough
|
The fattest blunt and death to that pop-pop, I ain't ask for much
|
And stop askin' for the collabs cause all you bastards suck
|
|
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt]
|
This that thirty deep, it's Saugus shit, fire starter, squadron
|
Dodgin' coppers since, ask her why she droppin' cuz, it's probably cause
|
He prodigious,pay the rent easy, leave the bank cheesy
|
And bass leave your face greasy, artisan, paint easy
|
Thick bristle type nigga on a bitch steez
|
Stanzas diesel like Vic Tanny on a fritz, whoops
|
System overload, itchin' for a foe to poach
|
Spittin' like the engine on a motherfuckin' motorboat
|
Gold glisten under overcoat, missin' all
|
Affection for these niggas, redirectin' all these niggas
|
Very literal, type to sip the Mickeys out of cereal
|
Drunk and drivin', twisty, how he inked up in the swimming pool?
|
Hundred stand against me, I'm a menace void a villain, sue me
|
Drivin' into fences cause I hit the whip a little woozy
|
Bitch I'm busy cruisin'
|
'Scuse me
|
|
[Verse 3: Vince Staples]
|
Can't even walk up in the church without these niggas tryin' to testify
|
I live to die, better that than to live a lie
|
I rap better than most these rap veterans
|
Hard-headed and hopeless, hope that God let us in
|
Momma didn't wanna give birth to a nigga
|
Should've murdered a nigga, I'm a cancer to the youth
|
Automatics out the roof, 380 with the weave in it
|
On site, scary as prom nights with Carrie
|
Or car rides with Berry, that's Halle not Brent
|
Shootin' like Brent and his brother, doin' what daddy, I did
|
Niggas want Grammys and shit, that's funny to me
|
Cause since the first take it's been about money to me
|
I'm just tryin' to get what Diddy got
|
Doin' what got Biggie shot
|
They told me that I wasn't shit, but left me in a litter box
|
Give it up and get a job
|
|
[Verse 4: Action Bronson]
|
Uh, get a job bitch
|
I'm like the boss from the end of the Nintendo game
|
My brain is on another level, I can feel the Devil's pain
|
Only address me by my reverend name: the good doctor
|
The good author, good brain in a good Porsche
|
Dancin' drunk in dress pants like I'm a hunk
|
Backflip in a jacuzzi, forty floors inside the Trump
|
Front-flip into this high yellow Chinese bitch's rump
|
Then she make me chicken broccoli for lunch
|
I roll a joint like a Motumbo arm- I'm high cousin
|
Every time I roll the dice it's five hundred
|
When I order wine, it's nine hundred, French chefs kneel before me
|
End of story take a shorty to the sortee
|
That's the bathroom, you already know what happens there
|
I pull my swimming trunks down, she suck me through the boxer
|
While I'm wearin' flip-flops
|
Shit's real, grip the wheel, lift steel
|
That's it
|
|
Woo, fuck yeah, hello
|
Fan fare, bravo, encore
|
Thats' a wrap
|
|
-----------------
|
Elimination Chamber
|
| Domo Genesis & The Alchemist |