[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
We like Isaiah Thomas and Joe Dumars
You don't want no fuma
Actin' tough, you goops Harold and Kumar
Been jackin' too hard, I'm looking at these rappers like
Doc Umar looking at your white gumar
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 f**k 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? Separatе the heat from Sriracha
Peoplе 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
So we exposed these hassas, oh we got to
f**k you and your phony patois, brody [?]
And your b*t*h, who she think she is? Patra?
pu**yclot 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"
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