Turn the music up, turn the music up

(Python, where your tag at?)

Man

Yo, ayy

Man

Hahaha

I was born underwater with three dollars and fifty cent

I'ma get rich or die tryin' to find a dime, huh

What goes around comes around, full circle

I'ma cut my own TV off before I go commercial

Huh, right in time for the revolution

I'm the new Gil Scott-Heron, double dare you to test the movement

Unless you prepared as hell to fail

Comparison is the thief of all joy

This is not a den you wanna lie in, don't even try it

'Less you're Soulo, ho, the prophet

Damn, Daniel

I mean the Vans Off-White like Virgil had somethin' to do with it

It's gettin' easier than shootin' fish in a barrel with all this bait I set

Shit, they gettin' desperate for restitution

Do the damage I do to amateurs

Who never cease to embarrass us

This shit been rigged since the Pilgrims hit the Americas

Motherfuckin' opportunists

Who literally made a killing, maiden Thanksgiving

And John Smith sold Pocahontas into prostitution

Hahaha, bitch

I was born underwater with three dollars and fifty cent

I'ma get rich or die tryin' to find a dime

Went from splittin' optimals with NFL's lil' bro

Tryna snatch the durag off of King Rich head

With Legend in the Solara, bumpin' J.R. Writer

Or Ghetto Fabolous, in the suburbs in an ave labyrinth

Beats in a beaker, uh, I mean a speaker

To traveling internationally

Due to the craft that I mastered passionately

The Black Lip Pastor (Ayy)

Casted out of the pasture for

Happening to be a black sheep, baa

That's all, my flipper's cracked

That's all I— yeah

Expeditiously

You smoke crack, don't you?

Soul

I'm sorry, big bro

I'm so sorry