Mickey Factz - Starting 5 lyrics

[Verse 1: Boola] First off, I'm clean, no need to wipe the dirt off Alexander McQueen, scarf out of Bergdorf XO the drink, cashmere under the mink Soon as you blink you lose your ho from just a wink Who the link? Bink, b**h, what you think? Minus the ink, yeah, my sh** talk and stink Don't you smell the stench? New money got a scent Offspring of a pimp, you can see it in my limp Not in this to quit, I decide to go the length My defense is my strength, for the money, n***as throw in the monkey wrench Like I give a f**, pardon my French I don't want to hear sh** unless you offering chips Pardon my chain, pardon my wrist, pardon the 6 Took a mile but I started with an inch Blew a stack on your b**h and I didn't even flinch MVP of this sh** and I started on the bench [Verse 2: Maffew Ragazino] Started on the bench like Kobe on the Lakers Mark Cuban of the franchise I play for Laughing to the bank, n***as skipping like Rafer Grateful of God's grace, damn, I could have been a Pacer A lot of n***as went home without the Chip Close but no cigar, blame the gentleman on my kicks Knees full of fluid like Ewing, Patrick Commentating on how I ball like Stephen A. Smith Humble n***a low key like a young Fritz He enter with a broad but I left with that same b**h Let that girl choose, I'm the chosen one Guess I'm one lucky motherf**er like I'm Oprah's son And a lefty too, Foamposites Pepsi blue Polo'd out like Timeless Truth Purple label designer suits Handkerchief in the pocket, that's how mobsters do [Verse 3: Mickey Factz] Factz! Ortiz and Dubb Jeans Broads holding doors open before the car leave Japanese kicks had to pay mad paper Just to pronounce them you probably need a translator Hot flow-er, phone calls with stockbrokers New Benz, I call it the droptop yoga My car is sick, it's got glaucoma We playing dice on a jet, I'm a high roller Catch my man Boola with the paint boy Jolie Redd look-a-likes down at St. Croix Make noise because I'm what you call realer Meetings at the moment with a private art dealer Acres of plants out in Asia, stay in Japan Waving at fans on the plane while I'm waiting to land Paint in my hand, it's the new Warhol It's uncalled for, your man is an All-Star [Verse 4: Reek Da Villian] Down in the grill, sandals and shorts, gun in my linen Final leaf lit, play in the sand with a couple of women I call that macking on the beaches with the b**hes Tomorrow it's to Brazil then Costa Rica for the weekend These n***as talking that money they never see Rapping about all them locations that they never be I save the M's but I'm throwing out every D And Mount Vernon b**hes know me for slinging heavy D I'm strung out, this frontrunner I sound like Jay and Nas back in '98 Summer Y'all n***as all fancy, I'm a '98 Hummer Come through and turn you Range Rovers into Roadrunners, who the f** want it? Touch nothing, I just poly the deals Send the connect to my youngins pop a molly and chill Big bank, large cake, liquid dollars are mils Safe so heavy to move it need a dolly with wheels [Verse 5: Jon Connor] Let's clear all the confusion, look at all that I'm doing Best in the world, don't need a pencil to draw that conclusion To the ones that don't like me, I give you thunder and lightning Rain on your parade, I keep the rap game exciting Here I am in the flesh, self proclaimed I'm the best You can't fathom my love, my heart is as big as my chest I'm the sh** right now, why they keep saying I'm next? Fly, I'm jetting past you n***as, that's a shoutout to Plax I'd rather you hate me for being real, than love me for being fake Run laps around rap n***as on tracks it keep me in shape Hard body Colossus every time that I drop sh** Son you n***as, adoption, slowing down's not an option Y'all see me shining, blind everybody that's watchin I want the world like I'm telling God to spoil me rotten I ain't happy til my competition gone and forgotten Punch lines every time, check to see if they conscious Connor!