It's that modern Punk I'm sick of all that posing shit
I just seen a new strat tryna hold on it
I been thinking of the sun, thinking holidays
All these demons on my back like I'm Holloway
F-f-flared jeans and chokers when I'm hyping up the crowd
Got the sprinter at the exit if it starts to go south
And the police keep knocking asking why I'm so loud
And the fans keep asking why I'm sold out
Damn my head spinning
Gotta stop that sipping
Put em on TV talking robot chicken
Imma go up with my team yeah we all winning
And that custom suit Celine talking mob business
(Mob ties)
Pull up with my dawgs, smart dude
(Grrrr)
Damn he ducking all this beef
Tofu
And I'm cooking on these beats
Soul food
Heard your name about the streets
I don't know you
(Who the fuck?)
Ohhhhhhh
Yo
Got-got that Fender Strat
Talking bands I'm counting that
Every time I'm sippin ac…
Dead that like a new age crack
O-o-only time I'm finding peace
When I roll up smoke that green
Posting pistols with a beam
Wonder why these streets and clean
Man it piss me off it's pay to win
The pages always cashing in
They're dropping shit it's littering
They're slimy like some Glycerin
Wash your mouth with Listerine
For talking shit on all my team
You want the sraps act like a fein
But pay my bread cause chips too cheap