[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
We like Isaiah Thomas and Joe Dumars
You don't want no fumar
Actin' tough, you goofs Harold and Kumar
They jackin' too hard, I'm looking at these rappers like
Doc Umar looking at your white goomah
You mad they recognize my brilliance, spending tens of millions
Must be graffiti writers, way you in your feelings
Don't a minute go by your man is not complaining
All he do is fuck up the bag like boxers training
Got restraint, ain't worried 'bout nobody hating
That's like the dude cursing at the sky for raining
Can't stop YOD, you can only try and contain him
Consumers see the difference when the product came in
Your boy put a lot of pain in
End of the day, still acknowledge that it's entertainment
Who shot ya? Sеparate the heat from Sriracha
Pеople watcher, I see the geek in your posture
They be like "How you living Tvoy I say "прекрасно"
Peace to Sasha, now у нас новая тачка
Old Russians in the spot, off a fifth of Vodka
Have one of my dogs, come flip you like a lodka
Should we expose these hasas? Oh, we got to
Fuck you and your phony patois, brody [?]
And your bitch, who she think she is? Patra?
Pussyclot тачка. Блядство
Yo, I heard this hot head frontin' like he top shotta
Got bread, but you dusty like ciabatta
Think you bright, but I know somebody smarter
With an OCD mother and a musician father
YOD, I been this way since cats been wearing Pradas
Drop the hammer on the propaganda, all you hear is "Pravda"