2AM Thesis

I ain’t fallin’ back in that trash repeat

Tryna find peace cause the game goes deep

Tell her read it off the page while I twist my leaf

She don’t cut up, she can hold this fact

Tell one slide over, pour it up, no fear

Soda pop for the baddies in mimosa glass

Didn’t trip once, homie, I ain't new here

I ain’t dumb, talkin’ whole eloquence

These dudes passin’ round same IG baddies

And I can’t keep runnin’ back that old film

Most these cats just stage-play

But I’m gon’ always preach like I’m Moody with the blue jam

Face lift turn to pay flips

Gotta hit the body shop for a few grands

Can’t paint a pic clear through the pain and mascara

Mama in the house tryna stack them loose bands

Lowkey blowin' checks on a freak

Still checkin’ in on them food stamps

Top-downs in the hood, sittin’ heavy on them deuces

My dude, peep the globe, that’s domination

Yo, what a deviation

Unfair when one slip blockin’ off whole plays

Tipsy tryna dip, that’s kid games

Glass cubes in a zone, that’s a turf with some weight

Look, steam in the whip like a sauna booth

And a hand to the sky like I got that drive

Til I’m slidin’ with the top peeled back, grin stretch wide

But I ain’t pressin’ pause, you better pray, it’s fine

Spittin’ with that soul might get you pressed

Homie, pop your piece, homie, pop your piece

Speakin' with that brass, preachin' that real

Speakin' with that brass

Ain’t really got bars like me

You should know by now, y’all lames

I stay crisp but I still got grime, test me

You got clocks in your hat like a style with a flat fee

You got clocks in your domepiece

Peek quick like, “Where he post at?”

But I’m slidin’ through clean, better peek from your left side

Truth is, I’m behind your blind side

I ain’t laid back with my feet in position

Don’t trip, this ain’t Madden Sundays

Why I’d trace your trail, like I’m stuck in your kicks?

And for real, I take the long route

Better choose the right way when the lanes split

Better mind your lips, better guard your neck

Preachin’ heavy facts, dog spit that grit

That dude got some Coltrane in him, speakin’ with that brass

You don’t hear it like this except every blue moon hittin’

Waitin’, I’m spaced, like vintage denim

Where the dish look rich, tell em chill while I splash it

Just cheffing that flame

And I ain’t cheerin’,

Self-soothin’, soda pop in them mimosa glasses

And the man been tight, so I’m posted like a healer prescribin’

Man been graced but the man been ill