Footwork

(album: B-Sides & Rarities Vol.9 [2017-2020] - 2021)

I can't stand myself
Rhymes so dope that I stan myself
My footwork got Tarantino hitting my phone
Wild wolf, bite every hand I'm dealt
Better grab that belt, and you better grab that helmet
I'ma go where I wanna go, man I'm selfish
Real shit, always gone as fast as I felt, woah
Pelvis thrust through the club, speaking elvish
That's Rav; ahead of the pack still
Short king, y'all couldn't stand out if you had stilts
That's real, true story, popping advil
'Cause the truth do hurt: truth is you lack skill
Why? Y'all playing, man I can't explain
Cut me off, y'all still feel me like phantom pain
Get a grip, get a fancy chain
Maybe candy paint a whip to amass some praise
Still won't ascertain my orangutan flows
Pass me the mic and anything goes

My circle got the best angles
Feel haters' hands all around my ankles

Stick my dick in the butt of the whole rap game going, "This and a blunt."
When you got brain, why you listen to gut?
Glass half empty 'til I piss in your cup
Hol up, hol up, hol up, hol up
Let me talk to you, you motherfuckers
Popping off I'm number one
In person why you suckers ducking
Mad cause it's been a couple years
But now the ugly duckling fucking up the game
And I'm not finna fucking stop for nothing
Uh, skull passion
Fuck your drip, my wave is so fashion, yuh
Fuck what you been blasting, yo
I don't wanna play that shit, no
Y'all flows still lacking
Y'all shit quick to fuck with this Rav shit, bruh
Your words mean jackshit, bro
All talk, no action, though, uh!