[Verse 1]

So I’m off to this hip hop show
And my man Andy Solo he don’t wanna go
So I’mma get nice like Pete kick that Willie Bobo
I’m good and ready but finding parking here is like finding a Yeti
I finally find a spot, of course it’s next to some fans in Ecko
Smoking weed in their car, “Ain’t you Eso?”
Yeah kid I dap em then I throw up a peace sign
Slam the door on my 1999 Nissan
I used to be embarrassed to the whip now I don’t give a shit
If those are real fans of mine then I’d be in an ‘09, right?
I stepped to the back stage hype
And there’s Ace with an irritated look on his face

[Talking]

Yo, what’s good man? How you been, G? I ain’t seen you in a long time. My homie talk to me

[Verse 2]

Look Es, your life is kind of sort of a mess
I thought you were smart but you like all of the stress
Folks in the game with less than half a brain
Know your manager’s name is synonymous with pain
Yet and still you wanna work with his shady ass
Any green you seen is lean as a blade of grass
Any chance to win my friend is fading fast
Compared to other managers Solo is rated last
You in deep, get a lawyer to get you out
Cause this game will chew you up and spit you out
This game will slap you around and make you cry
Then change who you are and make you lie
Instead of sitting around writing them riddles and skits
Make sure your dog got some Kibbles and Bits
Taking care of home is really the only thing
And by the way, whatever happened with that ring?
[Chorus]

*Scratching* Kick back

[Verse 3]

Ain’t that something? A legend like Masta Ace
Trying to push my buttons but it’s nothing
Why you gotta bring up the ring? You heard about the mugging
The thugging, I’m not Bernhard Goetz, I’m more like Bernard King
Meaning I don’t shoot joints, I make points
And you know my dog is dead, Ace
That’s in poor taste, slap in the face
That dog was my saving grace
And with all the shit I been through it’s no wonder I’m a basket case
You trying to tell me Andy Solo is see-through as a manager
But Ace I don’t believe you
And homie got beats too so I gotta stay
He got industry connects, we just need a few cheques
I know you thinking I’m crazy, that my decision is shaky
But my lyrics are out of shape, my writing hand is all edgy
My inspiration can’t save me, my whole career is a maybe
And my hunger’s looking out the front door like my lady
I wonder if I’m rapping right
But all she cares about is that dishwasher and if I be stacking it right
While I record she looks at houses that we can’t afford
The landlord thinks it’s Bel-Air, it’s more like fifth ward
But I’mma jet and let you rock your set
I’ll think about what you said and see if Solo’s a threat
[Chorus]