He kept it loco on the low-pro
With no dough to show, but had a professional logo
The focal point was vocals for the locals
They threw their hands up and made commotions poppin’ photos

The lowest point of low though, was hearing a song
And seeing nobody, in slow-mo they seen the soul glow
Food for thought, I wonder if it’s supper yet
Higher than a spy in a jumbo jet hunting for Boba Fett

I was looking for Charles Barkley's car keys…
A Globe Trotter? Probably not. A role model? Hardly
Hardy Har, "Party on Garth" with Barbie dolls
Lodi Dodi, we like to party at the Mardi Gras

Bada Ya, dancing in September
The audio is low enough to stand by you Pretenders
Y’all lip-synching in quicksand with auto-tune
Lollapalooz all a y’all and call it Bonnaroo

Otherwise call it macaroni
And stick a feather under your skull cap, you phony
Hold it homie, only the lonely can play
We can’t fit 45 hype men on stage

[Verse 2]
Sick metaphor, sitting in a pool of my blood
It’s thicker than water, I'm filling my cup
It’s half empty, tempt me. This Star's spending Bucks
And I'm Tall and I'm Grande, I'm a Venti

Ded Gjo Luli sent me. Many men had semis on the block
I pour out a little henny throwing pennies for your thots
Make it rain through the whole day, the Colgate opens
Scope the freshness since '08 in a North Face

Cold plates, I’m just dishing out revenge
Piss about your whereabouts; I'm dissing all your friends
And we're about to finish, at the end
I'm slipping out the apartment, park and spark it in the Benz

Friends come, if friends go when your ends low
Then see them out the dough, since they ain't really your friend bro
I'm on some Kanye, "just listen to the kids."
While I spit, lickety split, persnickety and shit

Just give me the McRib
Instead I'll go 'head and set it, forget it on the fridge
Now I'm bout to say some sentimental shit
What you get from giving, than getting's a better way to live...
Here's some dick