Six Figures (feat. Truth, Prime & Billy Shakes)

Yo I'ma talk my shit real quick I'm out of pocket with wicked rhymes you cannot stop It's catastrophic, I speak the truth, but I'm no prophet Grand Lotus, I reign supreme, you can't control this Marksmen is the regime, grab your explosives Real nigga, top of the bill, I'll grab a Hilfiger Real nigga, swooped in the Deville, you'll catch a chill nigga Patience to be realigned with the higher maintenance While everyone is acting so complacent, face this I'm in my Prime, no Optimis You a pessimist with confidence I'm tryna boogie down while you complain about the spot you're in Don't know if I'd rather get the blades and get to choppin' Never will there ever be a day that says I'm stoppin' I'm for the hussle, niggas who hating can wear a muzzle They're so confused cause they can't find the piece to the puzzle Demand it, I'm taking that shit like a fucking bandit I take care of business like my fucking briefcase and handle it Ayy And I'm just ballin' with my niggas Fuck a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures Ayy Man, shit, maybe seven I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11 Ayy And I'm just ballin' with my niggas Fuck a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures Ayy Man, shit, maybe seven I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11 It's the lyrical B student that came with the heat fooling You can't beat me, most of you niggas done skip schooling It's Prime mothafucka, at your door if some beefs ordered I come direct, no U-verse in my dish service I spit heat like a new AC If you coming to rap circles, nigga check your degrees See, me, I'm tryna catch mine and a bunch of hits I know my odds look bad, but hey, luck's my bitch Another home run, you should check the average How I rap this nice and still look this handsome? Good shit on my weed plate, next to the home plate 21 Bars I'm a Savage, no UK Flow clean like Pine-Sol, best flow by far I came here to rap hard, no softball On this rap shit I'm focused I'm black, from the burbs, so you know that I'm token Ayy And I'm just ballin' with my niggas Fuck a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures Ayy Man, shit, maybe seven I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11 Ayy And I'm just ballin' with my niggas Fuck a hundred dollar bill, I'm tryna make six figures Ayy Man, shit, maybe seven I'm finna blow it up like Bush did 9/11 Yo So many stripes, Tony the Tiger told me my shit was nice (They're great) But I ain't flakin, ain't no mistaken I ain't fakin, I stay cakin', bringing home the bacon Ironically screaming fuck the pork, dork To have that five K in my hand, god damn I'd be putting myself on to be the mothafuckin' man Yet here I Stan, but the Em comparisons are getting old And all the other white rappers that you've already told Me I spit like, or that I need to, or how to shape my sound Yo, I don't fuck around, I'd go pound for pound With Biggie, Nas, and Pac in their prime all at the same time My flow is unique to me so I'm proud to call it mine So, I ain't adopting shit, I may be handsome But I ain't Mr. Pitt, you get what I'm puttin' down? Crown me the king of my hometown, best rapper is homebound To his throne and fuck you if you think these bars ain't profound