m a s t e r . s p l i n t e r .

 

These niggas is tough, they pack a punch with all they bars

Got flashy cars and jackets, watches, golden teeth, and rings with stars

New LV, the unreleased, 3 milli’ chain, I eat my green

Smell that Gucci, fresh outta that bag and soft like that beat

 

Applyin’ pressure, appliances I got fresher than the Gucci

I walk on the ground on my own two feet

Grew up in a poor house, barely any money

Now I make hundo’ to hundo’ makin’ bars, not even funny

 

Payed a hundo’ thousand for Hyundai last Sunday

Now I pay a few milli’ just to get a Murcielago

I’m off gettin’ gold in Ibiza, I’d rather be scannin’ Visas

And Visas to get some yachts and some chains and some more Caesar

 

Not the salad or Julian, I mean the producer

Supplyin’ me the beats so I can make a couple looser

I mean, I like poppin’ perks and pills in the parkin’ lot but God

I pray that this don’t get me fired from my second job

 

I wanted to join a label that wouldn’t label me unable to

Rap stable, apply cable to mics, and enable rappers to

Do they job and roll up, and watch how we roll up

Take one puff, then two puff, then pass it in the cup

 

Light it up like a bulb, then smoke it like a firework

Set it off like dynamite then pass it ‘round like wirework

Spittin’ like a snake with my flow slithering smooth through the beat

As I cut it off and then bring it back like a Rolex

 

I was diggin’ for instrumentals, I was turnin’ mental

I didn’t even know what I was doing smokin’ menthol

Methamphetamines that we’re lettin’ me get high as a giraffe

And your raft is my rap draft so I’m boutta put it uuuuuup

 

Yo, yo, what’s good, G? A new album? You better be trippin’

Only 7 songs? What you talkin’ bout, nigga? Drop it