[Verse 1: Denzel Curry]
I'm hard, ready for the bogard
Hunger, n***a I'm the hunter
My bar, n***a mind on mars
Worldstar cause a n***a wanna be star
Throw the fist, have a fit
Grab the clip, pistol grip
Make them flip, pass the spliff
Axe shit, pass the fish
You wanna pass the bitch?
Cause I'ma beat the pussy up like a grizzly
Til now it look like the roaches of my cheeba
Girl don't leak on my sneakers
Now there is spit on my adidas
N***as are talking that shit so I'm rolling my reefer
N***a wanna talk about a motherfucker
N***a wanna talk about a motherfucker
N***a I'm drinking some fucking OE
I'm pimping these bitches like into the sea

[Chorus: Denzel Curry]
Denzel the Curry the ultimate n***a by far
Your bitch want a xanny, that heat with the candy the bar
In a mad city, I'm gifted I'm Kendrick Lamar
But you can say fuck that shit n***a, I'm just going hard
You n***as ain't really want war
[Verse 2: SdotBraddy, Denzel Curry & Pouya]
N***as claiming they don't fuck with me
Better get physical when I'm running into you (War)
Cause when it's man to man and face to face
Some of you are sounding like Ph in physical (War)
How does it feel? Oh, to me how's it feel
Oh, to know that you're pitiful (War)
How can you hate on a n***a who's working
Back to back to back to back
To get mom out of that cubicle
So don't call me while I'm at work
Building up my net worth
Cause it's my money and I need it now, now, now, now, now
Like J.G. Wentworth
And I know my haters wanna kill themselves
Every time I say a hot line
But before you do call 1-800-273-8255 (Yuh, yuh, yuh)

[Verse 3: Pouya]
My music immaculate, plus I am passionate when I be bashing it
Are you selling it or are you capping it?
Is you on the stale or are you clapping?
Bitch on fire like a match box
Still getting money in my tube socks
Pop the Glock, tear the roof off
Down the 9-5, quit my 9-5
Had no downsize, only uprise
Ain't no surprise
I did what I had to so I could surpass you
I got more styles than a fashion show in Paris
I'm the one that your parents made aware of
Be careful with that one
He's a scumbag, do not trust him
If you fall in love he gone leave you
The man got too many hoes he don't need you
That's the nonsense that they feed you
And you listen, cause you got no mind for yourself
And you probably got a hundred bodies under your belt
Regardless as I'm heartless in that department
When it come to my money I'm an army
By my lonesome, South Side Slugs
Putting on for the broke ones
It take one to know one
[Chorus: Pouya]
Get a full clip to ya lip
Talking slick, I ain't talking Gang Starr
Florida reppin'
The bottom of the map, we done came so far
You wasn't with me coming up
You not gone be when I'm on
In between your bitch like floss
You's a fraud, you ain't got the sauce

[Outro: Pouya]
You ain't got the sauce
You ain't got the sauce