| Do I not got you entertained?
|
| Still not copying a thing
|
| Still iced coffee in my veins, ooh
|
| Still spot me at the bank
|
| Still the god emcee of Maine
|
| Still Preposterously Dank, ooh
|
| PBR by the lying my commute
|
| Till I got the LL Bean boots made of moose
|
| Enough loot to get the roof on a coupe
|
| And then make that shit go
|
| Poof!
|
| She make me wanna beat it like my adversaries
|
| Cause she got a butt big like it’s my vocabulary
|
| My shit sick as dysentery, you’re the beneficiary
|
| Tracks laid down like it’s missionary
|
| I fuck a beat up against the wall though
|
| Your accomplishments hard to find like Waldo
|
| I’m getting money that I wanted to get
|
| Then the bills come like Monica’s dress
|
| It go poof!
|
| Whoops, there goes the loot
|
| Conversation, observation, still astute
|
| Though I look aloof?
|
| I’m a rebel, never settle, this is proof
|
| I’m heavy metal when I’m pedaling the truth
|
| I might have to pull a rabbit out the hat now
|
| Something out of nothing that’s my background
|
| What I see like the middle of magician is cigars sawed in half like my lovely
|
| assistant
|
| It go
|
| Do I not got you entertained?
|
| Still not copying a thing
|
| Still iced coffee in my veins, ooh
|
| Still spot me at the bank
|
| Still the god emcee of Maine
|
| Still Preposterously Dank, ooh
|
| PBR by the lying my commute
|
| Till I got the LL Bean boots made of moose
|
| Enough loot to get the roof on a coupe
|
| And then make that shit go
|
| Poof!
|
| I got your email but you know I’m not responding
|
| Cause I’m getting more-a-set these days, I call that shit Alanis
|
| Fuck your team and every player on it
|
| Till I’m getting foreign green, I call that Isaiah Thomas
|
| And fuck you even after that, every rapper’s wack
|
| Shit is foul, put you on the line, that’s a hack-a-shack
|
| You look up to me because I’m like an acrobat
|
| My peers disappear like they’re zits with the Tazorac
|
| Touch words like Vanna White, vanish in a week
|
| I’m outlandish while I’m brandishing the speech
|
| She got cancer so my grammy’s weak
|
| Might have to write my Grammy speech and read it to her
|
| Case she’s not here when I reach the canopy
|
| I’ll paddle into battle for people who can’t fight
|
| me to my company saving your damn life
|
| I’ll sign paychecks till I need my hand iced
|
| More W2's than the Irishman twice, oh yeah
|
| Do I not got you entertained?
|
| Still not copying a thing
|
| Still iced coffee in my veins, ooh
|
| Still spot me at the bank
|
| Still the god emcee of Maine
|
| Still Preposterously Dank, ooh
|
| Bissell Brothers in the lying my commute
|
| Till I got the LL Bean boots made of moose
|
| Enough loot to get the roof on a coupe
|
| And then make that shit go
|
| Poof! |