S.R.D.

Yeah, I'm cool, but I'm petty as fuck

I'm the type to beat his ass when he said it's enough

Roll a J, take a puff

Underground, but I'm over the top

Enough's enough now, fuck the pigs, over the slop

I'm like Stallone with the hat back, over the top

But I don't arm wrestle, I atom bomb wrestle

I'm a nuke when I'm in the booth, I'm a bronze vessel

Have you seen a brown mutant?

I could look in the mirror in the pitch black dark

See a verse and shine through it

I could kill a industry, I put my mind to it

I could look at the sun and say a rhyme to it

And the moon too, know why I'm aligned to it, yeah

It's the ghost of Peter Rosenberg

You get your millimeter if you know the word

You better light a joint if you know the time

If you ever seen a Jedi, then you know the signs

Yeah, but what happens when both our souls align?

A soldier's prime is often wasted on war

Never forget it, there's no credit

For older rappers whose flows decline

Niggas walk a tightrope, but never could toe the line

I'm so refined that niggas who watch me could never know the time

So sublime, my vivid verses console the blind

Hot-headed nigga spittin' the coldest rhymes

Drop dead and niggas figure they know the crime

Control your mind with torturous imagery, there's no synergy

I cynically destroy all lyrically without sympathy

This meant for me

I was placed here to be a messiah born in fire

Raised in hell like a note that's raised by Mariah

My vocals came with desire

I know you feel my energy

You think you lost a friend, but in fact, you're gainin' an enemy

Put my pain in this mentally, the only way I know to do it

You don't need to know me, my nigga, just know the music

This one thing got me trippin', Amerie

This high level's not eye level, you can't critique

Packs and pearls, lemon cherry from Cannatique

Kicks from Joe Fresh Goods, unreleased

Let's make this quick, I had to go bust a sale

Watch gold mines crumble, niggas fumbled and failed

Check the weight on your own time, it's too much to scale

Appraisal for the piece worth four years in jail

Kush God, all hail the real

They talk tall tales, hope all is well, for real

The spot is hot, I had to keep off it

Switched the operation up, hit different resources

My people baggin' up, doggy said he feel nauseous

Half-ass too, Fenty got her trippin' in the hazmat suit

Be careful with it 'cause you really have to

Or it'll be your last move

1101-1816 Is the item number on this one

And the nice thing about these practice katanas

Oh, oh, that hurt

Oh, that hurt big time

A piece of that just, the tip just got me, Odell

Oh, that got me good

You alright?

A piece of that tip just got me

Oh, right now, we, uh, may need emergency surgery in the studio