I'm the devil, bumping ba*tard at bedtime
Party at the Pad, shout to my n***as in Bed-Stuy
This my city, never running out of cash here
Bring your girl around and I'mma bag her like a cashier
You sound like I did last year
I sound like Grammys next year
My Jordan year was dope, but I'll make twenty-four my best year
Might bring the mohawk back
That haircut can't get rid of me
Because it was the closest thing I had to an identity
I'm Dillinger on the track, cause I am a public enemy
Like Tyler the Creator, lost my mind with my virginity
I'm a little OF, a little Kanye
A little bit of Gretzky and a little of Lebron James
A little Dostoevsky and a little bit of Mark Twain
Booze and c**aina got a n***a going insane
sh** never changes, but it's inevitable that sh** change
Got sick dames on my dick, mang, giving me that sick brain
Said that sh** on Ski Trip, but I guess it bears repeating
Until you get the message and it headbu*ts you like Zidane
Zidane, whatever
You make sick songs? Mine better
I got picked on forever
Now these n***as not on my level
My exes are regretful
I murder ba** and treble
You want the beef brought to your door? I'll bring the lunch special