[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
Since Four Wings and homemade Icee
I been sheisty
Holding weight
The worst 'round
A bad seed like eight facing Golden State first round
Drowned in that brown water
Still rhyming like I'm holding headphones to the mic on Sound Recorder
Like I'm still selling punchlines
Eyes red, cutting droogs in the lunch line
With krills and a North Face jacket
I know this an oxymoron, but y'all are straight faggots
Nowadays emcees is hardly rhyming
They must've got stage fright like Carly Simon
You're So Vain, stick the knife in you torso
Pain, turn around, feed you Horse Lo Mein
Man these whores are so lame
They rock Nirvana shirts in the hood but they don't know cocaine
Rappers drop they tape free and walk into these label meetings
Singing "Rape me, I'm an escapee, find me a cake"
Pity, like Utica, Utica, Utica!
Saying rhymes I don't know, or if that theraputica
[Hook: Your Old Droog]
From ghetto to ghetto
To backyard to yard
I spit it on soft drums or ones that's hard
We just rhyming
Rhyming
Rhyming
Just rhyming
From ghetto to ghetto
To backyard to yard
Marathon bars
Who wanna spar with the gods?
We just rhyming
Rhyming
Rhyming
Just rhyming
[Verse 2: Styles P]
Let me get your dying in order
My mother and father was probably fire and water
I come through the skies, am I wild? Am I wise?
Eyes on the window to the soul, no lies
I can look in the mirror
Might see an extra dude
Or my reflection move
Turn n*ggas vegetable
I could be ten states away and get next to you
It's odd, but it's hard when the gods start blessing you
Spookiest, the eeriest, wolf-so
I can smell a b*tch on her period
sh*t is dead serious
A few ghostwriters
An angel and a demon
And some lost souls screaming
Light the weed cause I'm fiending
King in my past life, died for my freedom
Am I a [?]? Am I royalty?
n*gga that's for you to guess
Never been to Budapest
Everyday's a Buddha fest
I ain't hell-real, but n*ggas know I'm a rubyrep
My new Style and Your Old Droog
Greeting at Whole Foods
You're slow dude, way before ProTools
I walked around with a pro tool
.38 special, yeah the ghost was so cruel
[Hook: Your Old Droog]
From ghetto to ghetto
To backyard to yard
I spit it on soft drums or ones that's hard
We just rhyming
Rhyming
Rhyming
Just rhyming
From ghetto to ghetto
To backyard to yard
Marathon bars
Who wanna spar with the gods?
We just rhyming
(we just) Rhyming
(we just) Rhyming
Just rhyming (turn it up)
(Check)
[Verse 3: Joey Bada$$]
Hold the applause
Who wanna spar?
I got the rifle on, whenever I rap, that's all
Still doing somersaults with my eyelids
And even with my eyes closed, can't do what I did
Still waking up and asking Lord "Can I live?"
They never liked us
Want to see us up in Rikers Island
Illuminati waant me for my mind, soul and body
Only if these n*ggas knew they feared the wrong posse
Mentally disturbed
A menace to sobriety
Until I leave this Earth
A tenant to society
And which is even worse?
I can see the hearse
Parked outside the church, that's my gift and my curse
I'm on a mission, keep an op for opposition
n*gga's trying to stick for the rap position
But Joey's never hiding
He's ready when you find him
My n*ggas won't hesitate to escalate
For now, we're just rhyming