[Produced by Noc] [Verse 1: Capp] Can't nobody stand above me Unless they using crutch-ees So much green a motherf**er look like Gumby Say they gonna jump me but they running away from me Paper like a mummy, keep it holy like it's Sunday Keep it holiest, I run it We trappin' in the kitchen And I stay high, altitude sickness Keep it in the car, stay sick like SARS My sh** be so hard, my stool got lumbar Your digits so far between and so few Your girl go hard, so what about you? Through the roof, she's Miss Amerykuh Badu The label be stuck in a rut, but what? They signed you And I am just the kind to up and tell you the kind truth I am just a sergeant, when I'm chargin', I'm Raichu If I didn't have a mixtape, I'd be standing beside you These b**hes don't wipe they a**, but I do [Verse 2: Capp] So f** all ya stigmata The flow is just my product Gotta start up when I'm feeling Gucci Prada Anamana And I'm sorry that your daughter Is so infatuated They're inebriated, life abbreviated
I'm just captivatin' and you know I made it like a watermark And I'm getting reblogs, call it modern art Make 'em stumble, no, uh, that's a modern ark Cause I'm bound to blow up if the song is dark When I'm riding, 'sho 'nuff Do your Dolly pardon my Italian I'm in a villa, innovative, in and of a k**a n***a with affinity Oh, that's an entendre The collective is an ensemble Shout out to the brothers trappin' in the brown hovels Yo, if you ain't makin' moves, you ain't making progress Dope dollars, counter like I'm made of marble Everybody shootin' but they not so good at dodgin' And I'm talking rumors, not the motherf**in' projects Good got damn They'll k** you where you stand Bless your whole brunch and curse your Ray-Bans Your Mumford on vinyl sold for eight grand If martyrs gon' die for certain waistbands I'll be that machine, the first to face man Runnin' so red, the verse is satanic I'll be at the disco, though, while they panic