[Hook: Your Old Droog] I knew this kid who stopped caring about his gear And wouldn't even try He don't wanna get fly Used to hit up Flight Club for rare Jordans to buy Now all he wanna do is get high It's sad, be in spots with no women, only the guys All that E and molly he tried He probably buy Never come around me talking bout you tryna get high I'm not the guy I don't do d** [Verse 1: Your Old Droog] Straight edge, don't mess with loud and I hate reg It gives me headaches and makes me wanna go to bed I smoked Winstons and drank coffee, that's why I stayed incredulous Put them grams back, you know how jam-packed my schedule is I gotta have a quick mind strict with mine So what you offering might as well be strychnine Decline to take a pull so they calling me a punk On some Charles Bukowski sh**, I'd rather be a drunk Brought brown liquor, and white That clear pour Georgie, like MC Lyte That's right, graduated to Ciroc 'Bout to get knighted, call me sir, ock Gotta holler at my man from sir to send a box Product getting placement now, clothes being rocked Not white turning to tan I ain't tryna go out like your man [Hook] [Verse 2: Your Old Droog] I come in peace like f**ing a hippy chick Smoke krills before you see me s** on a trippy sick Folder of beats is the only zit You want a verse from Droog, then it's gon' be grip My camp low up in that Lambo, bumping Luchini Follow that up with some Whodini You seen me out in St. Martin like the 95 rock with shawties in bikinis And we only [?] rocking beanies Only beanie we messed with was Sigel With young guns cleaning the baby Desert Eagle Had mad stashes in the State Prop' jacket [?] your old buddy couldn't hack it Now they looking at you like you the weird one When you don't burn, pa**ing on your turn That drug sh**'s some corny sh** to live by I'd rather sober up and go to DeVry I ain't tryna be the guy [Hook]