(Intro: Radio Voice)
Yo, shout out to these new n***as man, they popping off, especially this boy Hot Boy Caleb yo. I'ma let 'em talk to you

(Hook: Hot Boy Caleb)
This is my Atlanta Flow
I wrote this on the way to Atlanta, though
Thinking bout my Florida bitches back in Broward, yo
I sent a chick a dick pic on the bus ride
Got the n***s ASAP over there on Bay Side
Oh, this the team's beat?
Well, I guess the team's me
Unless your name is T, K.Dot, Tre, or Nick T

(Hook)

(Verse 1)
Demontay, Twigz, and Kangie Motherfucking West
And that's straight-up, my squad's the motherfucking best
Ran into a Broward chick back in A-Town
Asked her 'bout her past days
Shorty said she straight now
What's going on, she got a lot on her plate now
But I'm a vegetarian and beef ain't my taste now
Tell your man he can chill or get with it
Or he can get A-Town stomped like
Why you tryna play me ma, you know you could give me them digits
And I'ma call you over, take your banana and split it
Then I'ma drop you off like single mothers at Daycare
Hit you with that "Nothing Was the Same" and baby "Take Care"
Finnessing the plug like I got dope in my lungs
But I don't really do drugs
It's just my verses is fucking critical
This is me on tuesday, collecting my residuals
Heroin in the vein, this shit is pivotal
Life in a matter of seconds, do you get it though
Bank account filled with blessings
Ass and tits in my messages
Your girl throat is the wettest
Mind your bitch look like Precious

(Interlude)
Lemme catch my breath, though...
Ayo, Hot Boy Caleb, coming for Mr. West though
I got 'em

(Verse 2)
This is me featurin' me, like my name was Mr. West
I am also Clark Kent, I got the S up on my chest
I'm the Heat in Game 3, them n***as got beat to death
I'm the dude you can't see, John Cena versus the Ref
SAT, yo fuck a standardized test
I'm dirty like Vans, but they say I dress the best
And I don't need no Jumpman to tell me that I'm fresh
And I don't give a damn, ya'll n***as still wearing Ecko
2003 man, ya'll n***as need to let go
Wanna be like me but ya'll n***as straight flex, though
This the life I live and all I really need is checks, though
And I ain't talkin bout no fucking Nike sign
Talkin' quarters, pennies, nickles, dollars and dimes
Pussy on my mind, food for thought, who woulda thought of that
Only wanna wine-and-dine, gotta get her home by 9
Panties comin' off at 10, 11 we do it again
7 in the morning I'm in heaven, smile on my face
Like I met God and we're talking at the pearly gates
Reached out for a dap, almost slapped me in my face
It's like I'm the abomination of the human race
Pushed me off of cloud nine, almost fell on my face
Fell on my ass like damn I need a job
But for $7.93 it's like
(Damn, I'd rather rob)
Let's grab that Tec, point it at his neck
Don't give me that gold chain, cause I don't need respect
But for the love of money I'll do things I regret
Because I wanna be famous, sounds like the mission is aimless
Ya'll n***as just don't get it, it's like I get it, I get it
Got signed for 1 mil as soon as we started spitting
Don't be a zombie in the lobby like you work at Abercrombie
(Laughtrack)
Working on my hooks and verses like you see them at the churches
Work it down to the tee till everything's perfect
And when you make it my n***a, was it worth it?
Slave to the whips and chains, for a purpose

(God damn, someone run that shit back.)