Lyrics:
Twenty first century metamodernist
Fake originality's the only way in
Do not try to find yourself cause that shit wont sell
Just pick a trend
straight to your dome like a whole sheet of acid
With my saints by me, Hit Em Up as the anthem
Cus they jacked a few grand now I got no house to stand in
the microphone
Nah black (why P?) to each his own
So knick knack paddy wack give the dog a bone
Aiyyo, I pass E the microphone
It's me, yes the MC Grand Royal
McCulloh Homes USA all a nigga know
Dirt Bikes, pit bulls where my money go
My baby mom bitching (bitching) that I'm always gone
My strip sun shine
And I've help to heal some heartaches
And I've helped to sell some beer
And the last one that held me
Just couldn't wait to sell me
And for twenty eight
self, no reflection means death
Think shamelessly
Don't let them tell you what's inside of you
Don't let them sell you your own point of view
Tear down
You smell that
Fresh out the oven
I be gettin' it by the loaf
I be gettin' it by the bun
I be gettin' it by the slice
I be gettin' it by the crumb
I
The cavernous halls are twilight lit
Unnatural ghostly purple light
I've begged each god to end this hell
A soul too worthless to save or to sell
I'll give
teams in the NBA
A lot of young bulls spitting heat in an impressive way
True warriors getting bucks or bread in ways
By promoting and spurring interest
to stress it
Know you know my body baby
No it ain't no hobby baby
Make you do Pilates crazy
Only twenty nine but I really come from out the eighties
Yea I
the world bring you down like that kid
You got to get back up
Dust your shoulders off
Grab the bull by the horns
Do what you do
Make music, get money
Show
He was just an old country doctor
In a little country town
Fame and fortune had passed him by
Though we never saw him frown
As day by day in his
a vendetta
Get Saddam by any means and make man chedda
In 4 years you grow 600 million
The bush family
Oil tycoons
They're worth billions
You even pissed
Maybe I'll go down to Miami Beach
A margarita in one hand, a mamacita in each
Maybe I'll go to Detroit
Sell out and make dirty rap songs
Maybe I'll stay
do the same
Last night the price of Bitcoin went up by 20%
I bought me some more Satoshis in anticipation
The fomo crowd is getting in once more
Its
You'd sell us out for a few twenties and a 3.5
Switch sides
Yeah my niggah, you gone
Fake as fuck
I know you ain't, really for the cause dawg
When I press
no L's
Plug like AOL, who say that I ain't gon' sell?
Hand me the H, I'll sell
She said, "I got it, nigga"
I said, "I ain't gon' tell"
Buy it by
20 plus years of selling Johnson & Johnson
I started out as a baby face monster
No wonder there's diaper rash on my conscience
My teething ring
To suggestions so what you suggesting
I aint intimidated by your wavy ends
Or your grown woman curve with that baby skin
You can tell buy and sell is the mind
(Nah)
Done this by myself
I'm doing it on my own, I get the racks by myself
Man, it's Gucci, Dior, Vlone, I spent the stacks on my belt
All these dimes
of the century
Ohio got twenty seven penitentiaries
And get forty four thou' for each entity
See a nigga on the street, snatch him instantly
Here come
Went and bought a 50 slab, divide it up into ten
Sold 'em all, double down, did it again
By then you got enough to buy a quarter ounce
You sellin'
a 50 slab divided it up with the team
Sold em all double-down did it again
By then you got enough to buy a quarter ounce
You sellin dimes to forty
nineteen-eighty, through eighty-eight
I don't stop rappin' like my first tapes
When I was broke, I used to sell em instantly (instantly)
One look, you could tell
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