Oh, you the motherfucking man, huh?
Oh, you be fucking bitches, counting all the bands, huh?
Oh, you be trapping out the bando, selling grams, huh?
Oh, you be smoking, drinking lean and popping Xans, huh?
You see, that's the bullshit that I don't need
I'm telling y'all niggas, y'all ain't fucking with me
See, I looked in the mirror and he said, "You are the man"
And I said, "Hey man, I agree"
Rocks on rainbow, Ben's a nice fellow
Your neck reflect your personality, and mine is yellow
Boy, I hit the block, like I hate Legos
They know, they got thirty seconds, Jared Leto
Before they see some halos, and I reload the ammo
Boy, it's Golf Wang-o, and that's the squad I bang-o
Until my fucking brain go, now let's reload the aim-o

Can't a nigga get some fucking chaos in hurr?
I'm the truth and the dare
And you can get your ass beat just like the kick and the snare (ayo)
Schoolyboy is my niggy, you know I'm good in the 50s
That boy not that bad, eh, it's no Biggie
It's the G-O, and the L-F, we go-go, no homo
We blackout, and go hard like JoJo and fuckin' Diggy
No ship in this series, since I pissed off Iggy man (what?)
Been that man since Batman had a sidekick
Catch me in some Vans like one of them soccer mamas
And them bitches blue like that family went to a Dodger
Solve 'em (oh no), you can't bitch, I'm a problem
And you'll get fucked up like the thoughts inside of my noggin (yeah)
Going harder than the Quidditch in Harry Potter
All my shows got one black in it like Larry David
And I'm that nigga, meaning I'm two niggas, I'm schizo (yeah, uh)
Brent Lowe, mind motherfuckin' been gone
Pink and yellow on my neck remind you of my dickhole
And I don't really fuck with you niggas, shout out to Jim Crow (nigga)

Don't get offended, love being darkskinned-ed
Twenty-three with a crib, and I don't got no tenants
And I don't like sports, but the court got a tennis
Is that diamonds on your neck? Stay the fuck out my business
See, that's that Cherry Bomb, get my burr on
That's McLaren, '91 out the Chevron
Motors Flog Gnaw (skrrr), Vans on, fuck your Jordans
Went from throwing up to throwing carnivals (yeah, nigga)
Boy, I'm a sicko, Flaco nigga, but kinda macho
Boy, I got some vatos and shout out to Schooly, he kinda loco
Pack a de la pistol, we splitting nachos, then for that cheese
Boy, he was using some shells just like a taco, so grab your goggles
Nigga, Taco Tuesday, you don't want none of that
Have you heard of Fairfax? Boy, we was running that
Nigga took the store from us, yeah, fuck all of that (Damn)
(Man, he- he really took the store)

Crack a cracker with a barrel, uh (yeah)
Gang bang tattoos, this ain't a Louis rag (rag)
Orange Paisley got me crip crazy (uh, what's up, cuz?)
Pants heavy, sag to the left with the belt strapped (strapped)
No face mask, nigga, just toe tags (bah, bah, bah)
Still, the blunts getting passed, yeah (bah)
Ain't worried 'bout no niggas (nigga)
I don't grieve over suckers (suckers)
Gunpowder on my knuckles (knuckle)
Call the ambulances (ambulances)
I'm from the era of crip walking (walking)
You was clown-dancing (yeah)
You wanna be me, huh? (Huh?)
Cuz is wack in his raps and what he rap, he ain't done (whoa)
It's Top Dawg, Wolf Gang, smell the cat on your tongue (yeah)
Pussyboy, you fucked over, nigga, control your gums (uh)
Teeth missing, moms' won't recognize your face when it's lump, woo
My square homie's license, double life in my trunk (woo)
Mind, power, body, and soul, we break handcuffs (nigga)
Got a strike on my record, double cups, and duck (yeah, yeah)
You want the life like us, you need to crip that coast (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
You want to steer that wheel, you want to smoke that kill (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Well, who am I? Writer/s: Quincey Hanley, Tyler Gregory Okonma
Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind