Oxys

Listen here, Lil' Young Mang. Lemme reveal

1 thang. No matter how many records you sell, 

it's still chump change 'cause, tomorrow, the wave you're

on'll feel mundane and the art of rhyme is still unchanged.

I’m unchained like Alcatraz escapees.

Even my eyes, nose, and mouth wouldn’t face me.

Women chase me. My stamina’s incredible.

My rhyme’s impeccable. Like Aretha, I’m respectable.

Hit the decks and roll. Coming for smoke like a pot farmers.

Rolladeks, SP. Birds of a feather flock farther.

This quill’ll etch words in stone like a rock carver.

Try and stop us and get choked out with your laptop charger.

And choke you out until your battery’s dead.

You see it’s saddening, exactly where your flattery led.

So, calm your ass down you wack ass clown. We don’t back down.

When we laid this track down, then you get a capped gown.

Ladies, if ya’ll are foxy, stay by the door.

We might need your fine asses to stall the cops, please.

Sound-man turn the beat up on the boombox steeze.

If you ain’t feeling this shit, lay off the oxys.

Nothing but gems. It’s chaos as soon as we drop these.

Want a collab? You got it. We charging top fees.

Nice with the pen. Cold with the off the top frees

If you ain’t feeling this shit, lay off the oxys.

Lay off the oxys, lean, and syringes. Cause you’re

only serving your girls a couple inches.

See, it’s pathetic getting a fix from synthetics.

Thinking it’ll got through your body like a diarrhetic.

Head to toe covered in shitty tats. You bitches

act like we’re here to pity pat with these kitty cats.

Your daddies should have worn jimmy hats like fitted caps.

Even your midi tracks sound like they belong on a city map.

Rap stars get treated like a swisher and dutch.

Cause I’m not giving a fuck like a chick not giving it up.

So if you wanna get hardcore, I’ll throw you through

four burning barbed wire boards on a hard floor.

In your carport. Flipped backward with a harsh

force that’ll make your hip fracture and leave you there

with your it factor. Keep dumbing it down and spit faster

Gimme the mic. I’m cutting you out the mixed master.

Ladies, if ya’ll are foxy, stay by the door.

We might need your fine asses to stall the cops, please.

Sound-man turn the beat up on the boombox steeze.

If you ain’t feeling this shit, lay off the oxys.