Ball Cap

(albüm: Winter Booty Icicles - 2017)

Yo, stop it
I'm taking watches out the pockets
For my niggas who ain't got it
And I still don't make a profit
Wait, I'll flip it, and buy a honda civic
Fuck a critic
She listen to my music I don't ask her for the digits
Goddamn, another she in my life
The last one left
She lowkey still be in my life
Give me the key to my house
'Cause Imma need it tonight
We don't meet, but she in my eyelids when I'm sleeping at night

Got the style sharper than a knife slice
Ride motorbikes with dykes
It's fine, go ahead and pull that plug on my lifeline
Don't leave me lifeless
Afraid to go to that high place, but not being righteous
I be in that seventh circle if it does exist
I'm dropping sixes like the 6ers vs the fucking Knicks
Clinching spliffs the size of telescopes and ice the wrist
Down to 40 ounces biggest rock to swallow finds a sip
Then I go to sleep, after checking lyrics
Making sure I didn't skip a beat
'Cause god forbid my lyrics ain't really sounded sweet
Most people listen that others know I need counseling

These niggas call me whack
You got me twisted like a bottle cap
I stashed my inspiration from
Dime bags and lava lamps
Like, oh my god 'cause jehovah he ain't calling back
I drop relationships like roses
I don't call a fag
And get the niggas who want features off my ballsack
Like, I don't really care about offers and all that
Ashes on my clothes
But I ain't twisting my ball cap backwards
This the master, all you artists can fall back

When I drop a mic
Yo, I leave it scalding hot
Will these women like me before clout?
I mean like, probably not
The same niggas who hate
The ones I'm shitting on
All you hear is stolen
Like the beat that I'm spitting on
Take your girls pads
And use them to put these written's on
Don't worry 'bout my lyrics
'Cause I'm a fucking musician, mom
And, Yeah
I'm sorry for my decisions, mom
But that was back in the past
In the present and we get along
Like, you
"You wanna go to prison, son"
I don't want no fucking degree
But I can go get me one
And um num
Sneaky politicians, the suspicious ones
Kissing bitches who's kissing lips
Taste like, the glistening sun