[Verse 1: Matter ov Fact]
A Ganga Known to be a Swinger to your pale spouse
Eating 20 Zingers at a Miller’s Alehouse yea
Negotiate the right amounts
And now, all the Sage butter got the braised quail doused agh
Bottom heavy girl Tennessee
Shorty always shaking something never tremor free
Top heavy shorty still attending Emory
I told her thanks for the mammaries I mean the memories
A set of g's by her own admission 
Listen, A Ganga moving of his own volition
I'm talking free range not the cage shit
Playing street fighter made a n***a rage quit
Shit we heavy on the sushi
Or in the shack watching blues brothers rest in peace John Belushi
Yeah, and I don't need Louis Vuitton or Gucci
Just trying to get my beak wet, Don Fanucci

[Verse 2: EP]
Your nephews are pieces of shit and all your nieces are hit
Too egregious, hit them with the cease and desist
See a Ganga shoes talk, peep the crease in his kicks
Sex drive decreases, now she greases her slit
It, shit
Must mean I, be pinching the mushroom tip to Justine Skye
Made a crostini out of rye
She only want to see me on the side, why?
Copped the whole hog from Rodney Scott
Touch the burnt ends, even friends get mollywhopped
Your body rock, Bugatti straight out the body shop
You’re fake cloaked out, you don’t embody Dopp
Stop, hit next, they never heard of it
A Ganga vexed, about to suplex my sex surrogate
One armed tourniquet in the vip, whip, swerving it
Hard to determine wit of a dip shit slurring it