[Verse 1: Rokamouth]
I've got no f**s given for these whack rappers spittin'
I just like to listen, make the [?] my position
I supply them fiends, for that music they be itching
Looking at my bedroom like it was my kitchen
And I'm puffin' on some black music, I be so persistent
I could make these hood tunes and I could make yo b**h wet
I may have some issues but I be at my [?]
And I ain't that different from OG's in yo district
I clap heat and go hard
Make beats and gold bars
[?]
Then she ought to go far
And mail out that postcard
No slapping with most off
I'm clapping my own chart
That makes me my all star
These boys often roll by
Pit stop, to get mine
My mind feel inside
They design my new mind
Levi's that slip wide
True sign, I ain't lying
Yea, yo