You smell that fragrance?

You know my steez, you know my squad

You know what my name is?

The hoes call me Smokey, Rugby down low-key

Smell that strand, I mean that stench my cologne is OG

Oh, he, only talk about weed and counting loot

But what the fuck did you expect? That's what I like to do

Shit on your best outfit

And I'm on my old school Harlem, best-out shit

Who house this? I'm in your fridge about to fix a plate

Feet all over your table like I own the place

On my Calvin shit

Slide your sister, show your brother cheese

Like "Sorry Ms. Billups, we going out to eat"

I got a hustler's aura

Plus I'm a 9-11 **** with morals

I don't owe you **** shit, I ain't got nothing for ya

Unless you my CoDee, you don't know me, **** blow me

OK I'll burn the goddamn house down

But blow me first, how dare you, how fucking dare you

Rrraaarggghh

I get it in, buckets like Gilligan

Plus the riddles I riddle like I'm on Ritalin

Competition is little cause I get rid of them

I'm illa' then, whoever that you considerin'

I give a fuck how **** feelin' bout who's hot, son

Cause opinions are like Facebook, everybody got one

I ain't into fiction, that's a James Cameron feel

I'm more like Michael Moore, what I document is real

I hate a **** trying to give advice

Talking that killer shit and he don't live that life

Focus up, don't fuck up your day shift

Go ahead and miss me with that "back-in-the-day" shit

**** will tell you anything, foolery

Whole lifestyle just ghetto buffoonery

I'm on your heels, **** better pay homage

It's fair warnin' cause the game's on orange

You look like a fucking bitch in heat

And if you get raped by a pack of **** it'll be your fault. All right?

That's my fucking mistake, because I should've woke you up and said, 'fucking blow me, bitch.'

I should've fucking woken you up and said 'blow me.' You would've liked that better, yeah?

(panting) Because you got problems, more than me

You know how to fucking push my buttons