[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9"]
Nickle
I'ma real 'g', my mission is to achieve
If I fall off the wagon I hope that it's going full speed
They call me nickel-nine, I iron might the mic
The Myers might predict that I can spit, cop my wife an automatic whip
Tell her that she the bomb, drive it like a stick
To keep her mind from off tryin to photobomb my driver's license pic
Lyricist, the purest, nothing it can be mirrored with
Just a body laid out on the periodic table labeled
Here is with his ??? wit
While ya'll hating, I'm curating, I'm on every MC's list, what's your rate?
I'm transcender, you ?
You try to stand tall I will lower you like an antenna
While sayin timber, and watch there n***as fall like the leaves changing colors
Getting rich, it's a bitch, while I leave fame to the others
Gimme some head, I don't need brain in public
Just give me my bread, Nickel