Stuntin' for the fuck of it, i ain't with the sucka' shit
I make elevating music, you make elevator music
Tell the homies i'm in heaven and they ain't got hoods
Passing kush in the studio, rolled up backwoods
Come at me im sick of studio gangster thinking there music is whats happening
She feels a baby is the way to save her relationship that ain't nothing
Until then, my feet planted on the ground, shadowboxing my conscience
I'll even wait for the studio audience to applaud [cheers]
Making dollar bills out of music
When i was 11 got the toolie thick
And skinny jeans ain't quite the lick
Knowing when its over blastin music
At a studio or your funeral, i'm still spitting multiple times
Bet they on my dick tonight, all my women fly as shit, why your bitches scared of heights
So get up off that slave ship
...i make beautiful music,
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