调：C# minor
Verse 1
Writer's block, part four
Unh, check it
These flaggerin' thugs got
hate in they blood
Shit, it may be the bars that cater to grudge
Love your man's a menace,
get blammed in minutes
Tell it, jam or finish for this
band and tennis
I done ran through ditches
it had some candles in it
Bumping my music, but I ain't rate cash
your whole style is radio fringe
bite our grime mines
Sean's blind, wrist brighter than Einstein
Four -O -Z, they'll wipe
out your timelines
lettin' them guns clap
Press like a thumbtack,
the chef make it come back
gettin' ready to run track
you peep my swaggin 'ness
These niggas swaggerless,
Come through stuntin', lightin' a fat L
tighter than Maxwell
he'll be bitin' a cat shell
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A happy way these other niggas
I get it crackin' scrappy
Give it up for the Critically Acclaimed
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A .R. Fuckin' Ryder, whoo!
That boy speak the truth, man.
All these niggas ain't spittin'
it like you out here, man.
These niggas too simple for you, Ryder.
You been doing this shit
Nigga, this right here
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is what I call greatness, y 'all.
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Matter of fact, why y stop clap ping?
Samocha Excellence right here.
That is Black Pro 4.
Yeah, nigga.
It's Dipset.
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