[Verse 1]
Look I'm so raw, turn the oven on
Chef Papa John, I get the Parmesan
She want a yellow n***a, corn on the cob
Indian giver, slob on my knob
The b**h blow hard, harder than some halls
Here take 'em all, you'll be straight in the morn
I'm two peace gone, I'm never gon' call
Fly n***a, I don't wear it if its in the mall
Seen it on the blogs, these motherf**ers cost
Yves Saint Laurent, you can tell by the fonts
I do what I want, wake up when its lunch
Walk like I'm drunk, swagga so uh
Goyard trunks go around I got a bunch
Tell TSA b**h, get up out my stuff
I wouldn't recommend you to ever check him in
I started with the end so when do I begin?
[Verse 2]
I'm so raw, turn the oven on
Chef Papa John, I get the parmesan
Pocket full of paper, underage in casinos
You wanna see ID, oh? But I'm in the suite though
Here my room-key go, room moving slow-mo
Fans want a photo, but it's my turn to roll
Hold up baby hold those, you see I'm chilling dolo
Lens with a logo, pinky ring Frodo
I'm feeling my self, no h*mo
Hold that beat, poor that more roso
Rosé, you bozos, couldn't speak what I'm on
You would need Rosetta Stone
All these n***as all clones, we be originals
Young Money seminoles, tribe full of generals
Don't ask me sh**, Unless it's in a interview
n***a, unless it's in a interview
[Outro]
Dont talk to me, I'm not your friend
I'm just a fan of a fan
I love all my fans though