Kids In America

Yo

Lyrically, I blast back when I smash tracks
Wipe the sweat from on my brow and turn my Polo cap back
Like Ash Ketchum, I take the beats and I wreck em'
They talking down, I'ma check em', ain't touchin my beat selection, nah
Been in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, training up
A&R's are blowing up my phone but I been hanging up
We off the shits, purple weed, I call it Prince
Catch me dripping in some Tommy Hilfiger or some Ralph Lauren
My mental state is Professor Charles Xavier
They can hardly lift the mic but for me, that shit is weightless
I was destined for greatness because I put in the work
This for the kids in they bedroom who just don't know what they worth, yo
"Who the fuck is Oliver?" Bitch, you ain't heard of him?
He'll stick the microphone through a rapper like shuriken
Yeah, we four deep in the Camry
I flew my team to Miami, that's word to grandpa and daddy
I realized that I can never trade this quiet life for hedonism
How do these rappers sleep at night with the way they be living?
Teaching kids that popping percocets and fucking bitches
All there is to do in the short amount of time that we given
Yo, so while I'm here, I gots to spread the wisdom
The game fucked up, that paper turn you to a victim
Don't let these mothafuckers diminish your character
Kim Wilde, we the kids in America
Yo, got lemon pepper on my Polo sweater
I'm coming for whoever, ain't nobody do it better
Sipping out a coconut and chilling on the sand
Prolly rolling through my city while I'm thumbing through a band
Man, these artificial limbs, they got me stronger than ever
I'd tear you rappers to shreds if I wanted, whenever
Ripped knees on my Polo jeans, flannels like its '93
Smoking good weed up on the beach under the palm trees
Graffiti streets, broken glass, and concrete
Why you lil' rappers always gots to beef with OG's?
Now we on the top floor, that's the presidential suite, yo
Nikes On My Feet, that made my cypher complete
Sometimes I rap 'cause I love it, sometimes I rap for the hell of it
Personality split like Mr. Robot and Elliot, yeah
My mic check leave you wet like a TEC
Tryna keep the Reaper off me, crucifix on my neck, yo
Yeah, that's word to Weezy F. Baby
Been a few years since the kid did wwaavvyy
Bulletproof glass on a G-Class 'Cedes
I'ma do me 'til the day I push daisies
Shouts go out to Ber, shouts go out to Aahj
Shouts go out to every kid who worked a shitty job
Y'all can keep the gold chains, pussy, hop in the whip
Look me in my eyes and tell me I ain't body this shit, bitch

Yo
All the work
2018, yeah
Whole lotta gang shit