[Verse 1: Mavi] Man Lost my dawg to the staircase, took the highest spot on the podium Ghostin' niggas, probably smokin' to the thought of knowin' us They loss a part of growin' up Spurned us, learned I had to keep a wedge to get out of the rough Fuses clipped for nuisance, disrespect 'cause we carried enough I promised I'd bury the grudge, preparing the carrion grub Larry Oops, I was lost in the alley, in the air but not sunk I spun 'til the lost of my grandmama buried the dunk Send 'bout a prayer a month, through the above Niggas moody but imbued with the funk Better shit to do than play with food The rhyming Rubik's for fun But I do what I want, ayy And I rue what it was later, a looter as such Confusingly up with paper I'm shootin' ones with the judge if he sentence my brother Been with him, muzzled us from the cradle So we goin' to the grave with this shit If we join the second line The ancestors'll hand us a drum to load the second time Somethin' scary 'bout airin' out the shit I compressed The fare gettin' fairer now, the cost is An arm, leg, an arm, leg, and a head In all bread, the conquest for text, I'm pawnin' the rest My Bompton partner spawn when donning the red I'm all on they neck 'til my car park is pardoning French Spar with a few niggas, sparkin' at the larger percentage What's alternate when the losses come as often as wins? And imposter clique thick Don't got a job, I only ball off pick-six I'm fraught with friction, in July, we had shit lit as Christmas Hollins been sensed niggas been lyin', but we ain't gon' mention Boo hit the stu' and started sweating', told her this the kitchen You knew the rules And we knew how to shoot the loopholes, jugo, beaucoup loot And my kin and 'nem got the cannon, you gon' juke or boogaloo? I been spinnin' around the answer Non-definitive, I just crammed it Outward gifted, inward feel damned I took my lumps, my bruises, grooves What the fuck are you to do?
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt] Every time a nigga didn't spot me I had to figure out my own thing Now we at the precipice droppin' Harry Potter with the Dub-D's Magic hands, nigga, what cheese? Had a chance, didn't crush me We gon' get it by all means Rest in peace to my Ras G Raw Fruit in the box, seeds Let go, then I got wings I'm seein' red, I'ma charge You seein' red 'cause you salty I keep the tears out my mind reach I put my fears in a box like a prayer that you won't read Spirited Away the whole thing Peerin' away, I won't leave See you starin' into old beefs Ticket booths where they told me Thickest thorns on the roses Pistons roarin' like I'm Rasheed Pistons roarin' like I'm Ben Wallace Pistons roarin' like Chauncey Fill up somethin' 'cause I been drivin' Every time a nigga didn't spot me I had to figure out my own thing Now we at the precipice droppin'Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
