Vic Mensa - Drug Dealers Anonymous (Freestyle) lyrics

[Verse 1] Look: revolutionary anonymous Secret Service, wear my surveillance like I'm Obama's kids 16 shots and now they got me on the wiretap Running the trunk with a blunt, yerrp, fire that Ride in the track to Michigan, fightin' the drug case District attorney lookin' at me with the screw face Dude say, “Don't you know it's no hope with dope?” But he ain't know how dope I was Or I'd have probably caught a new case My suitcase is packed with Alexander McQueen sh** I call Wang personally, I don't need a seamstress Plead the fifth, plus I keep my chick in that Vera Wang Rockin' so much Wang, you'd've thought it was the family name Yeah, I know that I'm a target So I drew it on myself, let the industry be the marksman If you look close, you'd see that every bullet missed my frame Them 16 shots around me not enough to count the names From Tamir Rice, to Mike, to Eric Garner, Freddie Gray Oscar Grant, Eric Gray—what more can I say? Uh, f**in' A, dance away the pain Don't wanna hit the Quan, I do my dab to duck a stray Pray for these shorties, they bankin' like West Side Story But black on black crime is only one side of the story You got them bodies hanging from trees in our recent past You forget that this the type of sh** that they teach in cla** Hold on— [Verse 2] Check it When the Harriet Tubmans drop, I need 20 Gs Free D'Ussé for every slave she ever freed Turn up and down to the Underground Railroad The bouncers let my people go like Moses told the Pharaoh Yeah, flow on the Whitney Museum taste level Uh, taste is on the Spotted Pig plate level My London chick doin' A-levels need a stunt double I stunt like Rupert Murdoch, got me feelin' like a daredevil I heard they tried to ban the kid from the SoHo House That's cool, 40/40, get my photo ops Right, direct and produce the video clips Y'all talk like b**hes in the commons Cause you're just a bunch of photo thots Oh no, there we go, promotin' violence They thought that rap was just for show But this is no Empire sh** I'm no Hakeem, I came to dream Elijah on my team Keep the Houston Rockets, the Clippers taller than Yao Ming Never wanted to be about gun talk But if you start me at them racists, I will let the guns out This is just a disclaimer for anyone that wanna come for mine I turn your life to bad karma when it's drama time I got Carr crackers that'll yank your bank card Run up in Saks like, “Thank you, Based God!” Oh, you don't know my name better watch your damn words You don't wanna end up with that Kevin Durant curse I'm Game 7 Steph, EP nothin' but net You want a physical, Martin Shkreli, write a check I'm goin' Wu-Tang forever, my crew bang forever SAVEMONEY with that Roc-A-Fella, my new gang forever