[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