[Produced by OnGaud]
[Verse 1: Mick Jenkins]
The pink ring got a n***a feeling bossy
Spit it through the wire that's flossy
Dark car seats
Gotta get it it's critical fuck a critic
Approach is so analytical, sinning like fuck a cynic
My, n***a, we heavy on the grind
Burdens like boulders and sitting so heavy on my mind
Curdled my shoulders from sitting so heavy in this shine
Take them chains off
Take the pain off
Let the levees break
Let's piss Wayne off with the flow
Got a chainsaw for the tree and champagne flutes for the toast
It's a celebration
We no strangers to degradation
Whatever you do partake in, the answer is elevation
Don't get too high
People too dependent on luck
Get your house in order
We like two men and a truck
Its a movement
Gotta keep it strategic
Gotta push the margins
Keep your paper collegiate
Free Nation for life!
I took a pledge of allegiance
Gotta look out for snakes
It's like the garden of Eden, in my city fam!
Pretty lambs get played
Like pitty pat
Your hand look pretty whack, if you ain't jacking all trades!
They fade you out the back like bald fades
Your dog days be done
But 'til the fleas
Eat my knees
I'll be running with you
Breaking bread with my peoples
Cos' I want it with you
My n***a you see the trees
My n***a you see the leaves
Well homie, I see the roots
I'm only speaking the truth
And they hate that
And they hate that shit, my G!
[Verse 2: Mick Jenkins]
Youngin', been on his griggity-grind
Skateboarding home from school
Cos' moms' work nine to five
And pops', 10-57
For missing persons
But no-one's perfect
The bigger person
They lift the curtains just to see a young, black man
On the tracks
Stacking pages of that knowledge that they don't acknowledge
That's wiggity-whack, jack
Like aflac, I'm screaming at you
Why you n***as ducking out the way?
Probably cos' you ducking through your days!
Dodging bullets from your dogs
Just to run into some strays
Cos' them Ben Frankie Beverly's
Got you running through a maze
In a daze where these little n***as
Kill for the hell of it
Always down to ride for the little shit they' peddling
Hear the gun stutter like an ill speech impediment
Bet the verbs give your itch the chills
Chill, peep the rhetoric
Bet them curves have us rolling 'round
Chill, peep the medicine
That's exactly what they came for
Ginger ale and Marijuana
Nice conversations sipping Zinfandel from Carolina
Everything is thrifted
Playing pin the tail on my designer
Chill shit for my trill n***as
On my back I'm in this Hilfiger
Off in my truck im with the homies
Want no coppers catch me slippin'
On my pimpin'
I'm too ill n***a!
All you suckas just some lil' n***as!
This rap shit just an amalgamation of a Southside n***a
91st. 79. 63rd
Fuck with me Famo!