[Intro]
Sixth man, n***a
With cash like your neighborhood brick man, n***a
Let these cocksuckers sleep, man
Fuck ‘em


[Verse]
Call log filled with in-calls
I don’t even need to make out-calls
Everybody needs some fucking help
My momma told me I would be my downfall
People sleeping, like I sound like these n***as
Plus the label’s playing foul ball
Before I sell my soul, I’ll go to sell some bowls
And they can label me a fucking outlaw
Remaining humble dealing with these crackers
Is like trying to pull teeth from a toddler
Make you wanna walk inside their building, pull it out
And put their brain right by their collar
Rico Tune, they taught me chalk it up
Just charge it to the game and put that shit on wax
But where I’m from playing with people’s money
Gets you mummy-wrapped and gets you fucking wacked
That’s a fucking fact, and I ain’t used to that
And my fucking jaw's sore from biting my tongue
Like a vampire I can taste the blood
But these painkillers got me feeling numb
Since they fucking sleeping, they gon’ reap the benefits
And see what happens when you unleash a beast
Ungrateful ass motherfuckers
Don’t appreciate it when you try to feed the streets
They must not know a n***a play for keeps
‘Cause the people ‘round me gotta fucking eat
Cut some n***as off, ‘cause all they did was leach
And if you took it personal, feel free to leave

[Interlude]
(Smell me?)
Fuck you and your opinion
You can have your opinion about me, n***a
Your opinion don’t put no money in my pocket
And that goes for ex-bitches, ex-friends
And for all these bloggers comparing a n***a
One hit wonder…
Who?


[Verse 2]
Fuck these critics and you fucking bloggers
That be typing write-ups comparing a n***a
Writing paragraphs like they fucking know you
And when they come around, they just stare at a n***a
And the ones who writing ain’t even rap savvy
And truth be told, they really scared of n***as
Make a n***a wanna grab the stick
And like Brian Nichols wheelchair a n***a
Two hits in one year and motherfuckers
Wanna play this game and call me Bobby Johnson
Fuck this rap game, and all that famous shit
Fuck a record deal, just hand me my deposit
I was seventeen when homicide detectives
Pulled me out of class and started showing me pics
And not once did I break a sweat
A n***a held it down, and I ain’t tell them shit
They told me all the time that I was facing
Plus the list of charges and I still ain’t flinched
From hooping live on ESPN
To facing five and losing scholarships
Then n***as started laughing when I started rapping
Crazy how they took me as a joke
Fast forward and now them same n***as
Want to work with Que and they’re still broke

[Outro]
Yea, you dig?
But see, I’m quick to go Hollywood on a n***a
Quick to catch up in the industry
Like Meek said, n***a
It’s levels to this shit
And I ain’t even see you, n***a
We’re not on the same level
We don’t fuck the same types of bitches
We don’t drive the same types of cars
We don’t even smoke the same type of weed, my n***a
And we damned sure ain’t in the same tax bracket
You dig?
Straight up
I don’t want to kick it, I don’t want to hang out
I’m damned sure don’t want to collab, or do a song with you
If we wasn’t cool back then, what makes you think we could be cool now?
Come on, man do the math
It’s simple—
I’m three years deep in this shit, man
I’ve been rapping for four
First time I ever touched the mic was in two thousand eleven, n***a
When I got kicked out of school—hooping, n***a
Like I told y’all, I’m not ‘on lie on the Intro, n***a
I’m a hooper
I just switched up to hustling
Don’t forget that