[Verse 1: Crooked I]

They say this industry's a marathon
Well I guess I'll be the one with the gun
Shooting in the air making n***as run
I'm hungry and it's lunchtime
And I know everybody on twitter want the Chippy D punchline (ha)
Homie just turn up your speaker
I remember when this came out I was young and eager
Had to fuck with Le Tigre, yeah my budget meager
Now the diamonds black and white chain hot as jungle fever
While you selling out for mass appeal
Not to mention you cotton picking out in Massa field
I hope you got the vision to see past your deal
Cause they'll get rid of your ass for real
These company fucks are heartless
I know rappers with platinum plaques
That live in apartments that could fit in my glove compartment
They fell off but didn't love the art
Then they couldn't bounce back, now they fucked up, starving
Mad at the world, salty, sodium
Falling off is something they couldn't stomach, Imodium
But I play you players or pimps at the podium
Talking slicker than British Petroleum on linoleum
Slowly but surely I'm showing them the flow be as cold as Napoleon
Doper than coke kis
With keys to open more doors than custodians
I'm potent as opium
When I'm in the zone again throw some Bon Jovi in
If you ever wanna rock shit harder
C.O.B. to death and off top this' SLAUGHTER
Butcher knife and pig mask, that's Crooked I
Now put your life in his hand, when I'm in the club
It's hookers, ice and wristbands
Or find me in a sweet six leaning
That's sugar, dice, kickstands
Think about it, naw fuck it, I'll wait
See you next week same place
#OKBYE bitch