J.Cook - GSDT lyrics

[Intro: J-Cook] Illest track on the album, I swear to God I'm k**ing it [Verse 1: J-Cook] Flow ice cold and my verses so warm I got that 603 swag And that Mississippi charm I spit fire on the track You spit sh** so outta form Stockard Hall we in this b**h Rep my motherf**ing dorm Oh god my style innovative, bring the game a new twist Who woulda ever thought a white boy find himself atop the list? Of the G.O.A.T's from Compton, Harlem, Cali, Nawleans, St. Louis When they said New England hip hop wouldn't sound nothing like this I'm the illest; Flick my wrist All you hear is snap and swish Or cross them over through the legs And then finish with the dish I'm J-Cook I'm the P-L-A-Y-M-A-K-E-R That spell playmaker Boy, who the f** you think you are? Doing 90? In a 60? In a f**ing foreign car? When you haven't even blessed us with some f**ing foreign bars? Now I have, the f** you say? All my haters they so gay They just mad cause they can't slay Like the J_C_60trey Gottem' Try again next time Please just tell us one more time How J-Cook can't f**ing rhyme, boy! [Hook] Motherf**er I'm sk**ed, yeah [Verse 2: J-Cook] I'm k**in' em' here, I'm k**in' em' there Dirty south, the Rebel Black Bear, mang LSU cannot hang I'm backing up my whole gang I make this sh** look too easy What would it take for Weezy to look at the 6-0-threezy J-C good, J-C sick Like a sunnyside runny All your eggs in one basket I got 20,000 honnies Slow it down Light a tree, pop a jumper, hit a three We go in like Easy-E Yeah the 603 indeed Hotty Toddy, gosh almighty J-Cook spit so f**ing gnarly I'm in Nawleans Here for Mardi Even Davis couldn't guard me Going straight for that p**y, call that girl New Orleans shawty Your Tulane b**h nasty af, call that girl New Orleans gaudy, AH [Hook] Motherf**er I'm trill, yeah [Verse 3: J-Cook] They say I got that intellect Mic check, respect, good rhymes, good vibes, good times Derived from kikes, you likes? Alexander call me J-C the great This mixtape overdue dog, sorry I'm late Sorry 4 Tha Wait Took awhile to concoct it Had the chance last summer, f**ed around, and then I lost it So B-T came in to adopt it And this OG Kush got me higher than a co*kpit And the ba** high Till he drop it And my pant waist high Till she drop it Listen closely to my verbals and you'll understand the concept All these hoes who sleeping on me, I tell you to sleep less Hip-hop school in session, and I'm playing like it's recess Yes, yes This is the mixtape that will leave you f**ing speechless All you other rappers, speak less All my listeners just be blessed I'm k**in' it [Verse 4: ConnArtist] Shoutout my man Jules Okay I'm gonna rap now Look Worry bout nada Hakunna Matadah I gotta walk, lotta Gotta get on your bada Ba-ba-ba-ba I'm k**ing em' like, Osama When I was filling em' up with banana I got a lot on the side, I'm Sodomy on the stage Sodomy when I rage I got a couple things to say, and I wage that This toaster, here, could make it go clear That I would win the battle now, I will be president near, and now you Check me out I check about the s** a lot There was a couple things that's not allowed When you was sitting on the stage I saw Mr. Smith, and he had a lot of rage, and I got a couple texts I got a couple calls I made a couple bad moves Got a couple balls But yeah, we dunking, we hunking Yeah we stay at Dunkin's I'm staying back on my energy, now I'm jumping Now I'm typing With this fire I'm igniting Now I don't give f**s, bout' this sh** that I'm writing All that sh** that I was saying was vicing But them good times, they way too enticing [Outro: ConnArtist] And Mike Tyson from his pre-era, pro-era, never stare-ah Beast coast, I get a terra Dactyl, cause I act full And I ain't got no more food on my plate, cause you that full