Oh shit it's Rockell she's a fucking thot
Hey fuck you guys
Fuck you guys
Suck my dick
Stright on the basement mic


Goddamn, goddamn conversations with people
Crazy how one day the legends forget that they equal
On this Under Pressure sequel we not takin' it back, we keepin' it pushin'
People scared of change, but you'll find me deep in a cushion
Even when I win I can feel my self losing
Listening to beats in the beemer cruising
I can feel another hit
What's the conclusion
Or rather my
Readin' Nostradamus at 90 degrees, better believe
I know how to turn a prophet with ease, diacritical lifestyle, I'm always overseas
Hurricane Bobby in the studio blowin' trees
With the topic, I drop it fuck around and leave 'em all concussed

When I bust no thrust, world we livin' in is fucked
Industry rule number 4,081, your new shit ain't good as your old shit
'Til your new shit is your old shit, son, in this sun, let me get some
I wear this 24 karat solid gold rollie for my son as an heirloom
Not for lookin' dope as I rhyme
As a representation to give your family your time
Searchin' for love in the industry you'll be let down
They don't love you 'til you dead and then they call you profound
No matter how mainstream you was
In the end you still underground
That's the truth feeling close to the cliff