ChatPad

I pull up in that foreign, windows tinted black

Guns on deck, keep it tucked, never lack

Bitches love a nigga with that ice on his wrist

But they really chase the bag, that's the realist shit

Bitches, they be switchin' sides like it's nothin' (switch!)

One minute they loyal, next they frontin' (frontin'!)

I got options lined up, choose one or choose none

Slim3 don't chase, make 'em run to the drum

Guns clap loud in the O-Block memory

Now in the Midwest, still got that energy

Glock 19 stay close, that's my bestie

Try to test me, turn your block to a tragedy

Money scheme heavy, I'm flippin' every play

From the Chi to Lansing, gettin' paid every day

Scam or trap, whatever bring the cake in

Young nigga eatin', stomach never achin'

NeVs on repeat in my head when I stack

Money, money, money — must be funny in a rich man's world, facts

But I'm the rich man now, young don in my prime

Bitches, guns, money — that's the motto for all time

 

King bounced back from the grave, bullet holes in my chest

Flatlined, Few time, and I chopped it up with death

Only thing that matter is me, center of every map

Y'all chatters type tough, but I don't even clap back

No smoke with keyboards, y'all just digital rats

I get Henny in my cup, and its loud in the pack

Rap-pad used to crown me, now it's Chat-pad queers

Roleplayin' gangsta while cryin' 'bout they fears

Should be on they knees for the return of the real

But y'all too busy ventin', keepin' it "feels"

 

I don't beef with chatters, keyboard warriors typin' essays in they feelings,

Y'all roleplayin' rappers on Rap-pad, now it's Chat-pad, straight therapy sessions.

"Yo I felt this bar deep" — nigga shut the fuck up with that soft-ass shit,

We used to battle for respect, now y'all cryin' 'bout ya childhood in the comments quick.

Y'all should be on y'all knees, crown polished, kiss the ring when the king touch down,

I rose from the dead, still breathin' fire, y'all just ghosts in ghost towns.

Only thing that matter? Me. Period. Full stop. No debate.

Slim3 Tim3 forever, rest of y'all just background noise in my mixtape.

Henny got me wavy, weed keep me elevated, no cap,

Almost died for this shit, so every bar feel like a body slap.

Y'all turned my pad to a diary, I turned pain to a plaque,

Bow down or get stepped on — the mother fuckin king is back.

Slim3 Tim3