[Verse 1]
You ain't f**ing with my clique
So much they ain't gotta spit
I got this sh**, from my pocket
I lift this pick and script the apocalypse
I'm the freshest with this ink
The stuck-up b**hes s** me in a blink
Give me neck until I sprink-
Le I call that a little something to think
Hood rich, sawed-off shotty
With bodies under the mink, good chicks
I've got an eagle eye for birdies if they up to par
I put a hole in one
I'm on my Tiger Woods' sh**
Rubber band grind, f** your black card dawg'
I rob your black a**, now that's black on black crime
Southern comfort and lime
North Bubble when it's opposite of summer time
Scully load you think I'm moving dimes
So Brooklyn am I, yeah I come from where that Boom Bap
Is drums from a new track, or the exchange from two gats
Mouth off, don't do that
Hot heads, we'll cool that
You keep wigging out
We'll give your dew rag a new flat
Then push your hair dew back
I'm with the business
No throwing lead, I'm throwing doe on your head
I said I'm with the business
And you know I can't go a whole verse without a YAOWA
That's my mother f**ing sh**, you ain't f**ing with my clique
Clique, Clique, Clique, Clack
Run your mother f**ing sh**, homie come up off that
Grip, Grip, Grip, Grip
Back the f** down before I spit, Prick