Lyrics

What kinda drug you on?
I'm like A Clockwork Orange
Step to me regret the day you were ever born
Imbruglia, you're torn
Sad cuz you were warned
At your grave sight in black we are gonna mourn
Cuz I'm in that mood for ultra violence
No longer am I bound by fear shame and silence
I'm at Korova bar jamming Ludwig Van
You could be Aloe Blacc still not be The Man
Yo I'm not a fan
You don't understand
I'm stella like Ella riding up in that Caravan
Gonna make the world shift from axis
Gimme what I'm owed like Halle winning best actress
Thinking you a pro, you need more practice
I get it cracking like some chapped lips
Painting prophetic pictures like John the Baptist
Ask if I'm concerned yo I'll tell you this

Ain't got two phunks to give
You'll never get one
Won't give you what you want
I don't give a flying phunk
Don't give a flying phunk
I don't give a flying phunk
Won't give you what you want
I don't give a flying phunk

Yo we got them magz
Ain't talking Vogue Hommes
Make you do a dip
Like you tryna vogue homes
I'm more Bmore
Than some row homes
Your style is geriatric
Like old folks homes
Like old folks homes
Like old folks homes
My flow South Beach
You mo Boca Raton
You need to retire
My style you desire
I'm what you aspire
On fire Rome Empire
Goin round like a tire
Higher than a spire
When situation dire
Uplift like a choir
From that muck and mire
Here to inspire
Try me, I will try ya
Don't wanna feel my ire
Rollin with my squires
We number one suppliers
Like we from The Wire
And if inclined inquire
This, I will reply ya

Chorus
Ad-libs
Fade