So Brooklyn (Remix)

He's coming with nothing but fire
Fire, fire, fire
Fire and then after that I seen him coming around the corner with another stack of wood for the fire
Church
Creek Squad motherfucker
Uh, let's get it

I heard some people got a problem, well let me get the match then
I think you need a light to see you're sitting in a wolf den
I'm more positive I got blood dripping off of my chin
Kicking up the mud like a wild boar inside a pig pen
You couldn't divide me from hip-hop even if you emptied my dividends
I was broke and living up under a bridge
Still record an album on a phone and the thing Homeless
Volume 1, no cap, I'll make that underpass a home bitch
Uh, my style lingering now
Baby Face Nelson shooting every single cash cow
Most these rappers commercial, like "It's my money, I need it now"
Fuck money, so what, I'm too busy getting turnt up
Can we turn up green Church snatching rappers like a tow truck
I'm horny in hip-hop and like the morning Sunday young bucks
And if you cross my headlights that brush guard'll get you fucked up
I turn my haters into country singers who wear pink shirts
I'm a hurricane and a half, the Johnny to the Cash
Tsunami to the water, submarine to a splash
Give me that pad again, it's time to get on my rapping shit
I just got done recording classics with a banjo and a mandolin
If there's an obstacle I'm smashing, attacking
Regardless of my weight or my asthma
I got AC-30 shells, pack it down in a pinpoint
I've been practicing practically on a raft with a raft
White waters what I'm finna drown you with
And that's a river rat fact I ran through every bit of backlash
Glad bag me motherfucker, yeah I'm white trash
All I need now is a scissor cut mullet
A cool cut-off shirt that says "Church said fuggem"
Just to let y'all know I'm feeling happy again
I deleted half my contacts now I feel more content
So everybody better swerve unless you looking for a dent
I'm The General 'round here but I can't give you no insurance
Don't be grabbing the microphone if you go hard as a micro bone
My platform hella big but my circle fits in a mobile home
Mind power tough when I'm Home Alone
No Macaulay Culkin but I'm caulking the cracks in the open doors
Like I'm still doing construction, just walked in the rap scene
Looked around for a minute, went back to the country
Met some rock dudes, chill and smoke a joint out back
Went home while Creeker charted top five three weeks and a half
And that scary from the wolves
But I stay dusting 'em off with rooster feathers as we speak
From this point I ain't doing no fucking snippets or leaks
Gotta keep it real to get a feature with me
I ain't no Stuart Little boy and I ain't looking for cheese
Give a fuck if his cheddar, swiss, or parmesan with garlic and shit
No new friends, good chilling in the cut though
Can't be with this fifty 'cause I like hanging with the cutthroats
I don't feel like babbling, my point I have established is
So when your homies ask "What the hell is all that racket skin?"
Just tell 'em it's a fella with an orange "V" on his sweater
Volunteered to be a beast up on the microphone whenever
No matter the weather, sun, sleet, or erupting volcano
Who chews tobacco and swallows dip just to clear out his vocals
Who likes to Stone Cold Stunna motherfuckers through WrestleMania tables
Fuck the system and the God damn labels
Church (Church, Church, Church)