[Verse 1: Perrion]
So what else I got to do to get through to you fools?
I guess you can only use my height, which is miniscule
To try to ridicule, but I make you look pitiful
Surely getting rid of you, you ain't shit but a unit, n***a you been a tube
Been to school already, so fuck it, I don't need it again
Only thing a n***a might need is a paper and pen
If my phone dies, fuck your stupid corporation
Four hundred dollar suits, and bow ties
Can't wait 'til these hoes crying
While they chasing after the bus taking off driving
And all you neutral-ass rappers can eat a dick
While I'm eating fish sticks, speeding in my stick shift
Whatever, rhymes so simple, my rhymes so clever
That's why I'm so much better
And fuck y'all hoes I ain't trying to settle
I'm getting unattached from these birds like feathers
Never try to wife them up, and you're corny as shit
And played out, I might as well white Nik' you up
Sorry homie you ain't popping no more
It's over, now I'm eating fool, ya popcorn

I'm busting off like I just stopped watching porn
Trying to peel off in that new drop top Porsche
I'm in my own lane, homie you driving off course
I 'ma keep rapping 'til my voice hoarse, n***a
[Verse 2: Perrion]
Well, I finally found some more inspiration
After the first album dropped I've been gaining a lot of anticipation
N***as been hating, waiting for a n***a to fall
But since they hear what I'm capable of flight gals
They all fake and stuff, I call them a bunch of kids
And they hoes want to ménage, but I don't want to fuck with them
And they expect me to be cuffing them because they man's a fucking loser
Oh well, good luck with him
These hoes are like scissors to papers that be cutting in
I'm trying to keep my money fat like its got a double-chin
So so-long to all the exes and hoes
No time for games, X's can't get next to my O's
Cause I'm trying to stack hella g's
You think you better? Fella please
It's common for me to be with the bread like yellow cheese
And fuck you haters that never believed
Yeah I'm sure I'mma be loaded with the wrapping papers like Elves on the Eves
On Christmas; You cannot miss these simplistic buttered rhymes
Spitting colors shit's ballistic
If you don't understand look it up
If you need help rapping homie I can hook it up
N***as be killing me, think they killing shit
When they free styling and it's really written
Your bars need more premeditated thoughts
While I'm meditating with this medication I bought
And that's straight from the West Coast
These rappers talk shit 'til they hear me spit now that's less boast
This whole team is superlative conspiracy
Call a n***a out on his face there's no fearing me
N***as is lame
Kept hanging they never going off like a fucking grease stain, mane
Trying to obtain the big dollars, fuck a train
Shout out to my n***a Slim--holla