Slizback entertainment
Dress for success
Take 1

(Sample)
I never felt this way before
This feeling is so good

[Intro]
I don’t think I have
I mean, felt, this way before
Not like this
Fuck it, I lied, I lied

[Verse 1]
Uh
Yo who rock the beef and broccoli?
Yo who rock the sour cream and onion, chicken and gravy more properly?
The mac and cheese too
Yo who rock [?] we do
[?]
Squad color [?]
Zucchini Gore-Tex harsh brother with [?]
Bust gunshots up in your arse
Even if it don’t dump out my son got [?] in his thighs
We crispy
The God sweater look like, raw when it cook right
Miss me
Cause if you running to me, you gon see 1 to 2 I clutch the toolie, or I fuck you up with, mustard coogie
It’s nothing to me
I rock butters, you wouldn’t want to see me in a 2 piece boo, cause I’m rather
Charming, my army jacket is alarming
When tecs come out, what’s the racket it’s only me

[Hook]x2
Dress for success
The best nothing less
Cause I gotta stay prepped for the test
Fresh
Dress for success
I gotta stay ill for the skrilla
You know I straight kill, ill

[Verse 2]
I dress for success
My bulletproof love, tape cover says yes, if you asking
Flashing, that step one, step two, imma blastin’
Three, I’mma leave, yes you, I imagine
Gaspin’, because you fronted, and it was all because you couldn’t take that when I stunted
The polo vest, with the timbs, my hat was too fresh, you oughta hate less with [?], cause my belt got space for more notches
Get out of my way, if you cannot make the 8, go unconscious
Blackin’ out
It’s rules of game kid
Custom made came with my name script, Big Daddy Kane shit
Nobody equal
Sorry here we go party people
America’s nightmare, in nike airs, Nautica sweats, and a ice stare
You might care to move if you care to lose where my knife tears

[Hook]x2
Dress for success
The best nothing less
Cause I gotta stay prepped for the test
Fresh
Dress for success
I gotta stay ill for the skrilla
You know I straight kill, ill

[Verse 3]
It ain’t nothing
My Wallabee clarks is straight chuckin’
Your Gucci core shoes [?] move, ya fuckin’
Stupid, black Gucci stan smiths [?], for coming out the car ruly, with thick cubans
Rockin’ that purple tape shirt like
A top model
The n***as in my turfs they will burst like, hollows
Cognac wallows from Manhattan with the stitchin’
Cranberry apple shit, listen