You Don't Know

Yo, uh-huh,

The Syndicate, Renegades,

and all the crews,

turn the bass up now,

check it out, yo

 

Just finished the rhyme, I'll bust it, bass pumps the adrenaline,

turn and crank it up, boost and rattle trunks, you're cinnamon,

the synonym of feminine, I'm swingin' like a pendulum,

a veteran, intelligent, strategic planning discipline,

for untrained rappers in this game, I'll make 'em venison,

no, not make 'em venison, but I'll make 'em venison,

I'll tear away the surface 'till I break your exoskeletons,

and I came to this game with all relevant elements,

let's cut that pseudo-intellectual bullshit, embellishment,

hip hop went from hustlin' to smokin' crack to sellin' it,

pedallin' melons with the metal for the medals of the Medellin,

meddlin' in different endeavors, gentlemen,

draw your pistols, load your missiles up, let's take swings,

until you fucking piss me off like Chief Keef, I hate things,

rising fast as gas prices, and my team is acting righteous,

screw your underground crew backpacking cyphers

 

Sitting high, riding low, smokin' on that indo,

roll that good weed, kush blunt, roll the window,

down like a drive by, flickin' ash sky high, not solo,

niggas mad, finna get the cash, that's mo' dough