Yeah
Tenth anniversary for Hip Hop Weekly is around the corner
Niggas paranoid, nigga I’m back at it
Star boy, call me cuban cigar boy
The illest…

I feel like Michael Jackson with the glitter glove at the MTV awards
Rocking a fedora on some Kingpin shit
The flow is Neil Armstrong planting his flag on a Saturday
That mean I’m moonwalking on some weekend shit
I’m from the city of Long Beach that’s where police get hit
And the guns are so voluptuous, just wanna squeeze this bitch
I’m street shit, my niggas’ll never snitch, rather sleep six
Feet beneath the earth where all of they secrets is
G shit, but nowadays the G code get treated horrible, don’t it?
Different court than when Jordan was on it
All lame ball games, I’m just enjoying the moment
When I’m recording at four in the morning destroying opponents
See these rappers like to front like they the ones that’s ill with it
When it come to real lyrics cause I’m under skilled
Critics said you was sick, he wouldn’t know fuck shit
Even if he was sitting on the toilet while the plunger still in it
Deal with it, nigga this is God level flow
What I’m about to say next, I’m freestyling, so I never know
Booth pitch black, watch bezel glow
This that Breakfast Club shit, nigga the Lox episode
I just attract those riches, then racks come to me
I just attract more bitches than flat tummy tea
I just rap so vicious, it’s a civil duty to be a star boy
Like I mixed the class on civics and astrophysics
I’m out here getting at your Mrs
I didn’t know though, if she ain’t loyal that’s your business
I got the TDE strap, nigga the shrapnel visits
Your abs and your soul ’cause it’s pointed at your gizzard
Don’t act so ‘spicious, what’s that? That’s those crickets
I leave everybody he knows bleeding, back row tickets
Gimme the cash flow digits, gimme the rap flow so heavy in food for thought
That it crack your dishes and snap your dentures
(Bitches) Rappers can’t compete with the wisdom
They still got the brainwashing they received from the system
I could’ve easily dissed them, squeeze it and leave them a victim
‘Cause we be taking beef literally, like a thief in the kitchen
You lost souls, I ain’t judging y’all, I ain’t the magistrate
The plates is out of steak, the Chucks is rattlesnake
The bucks won’t change me no matter the amount I make
‘Cause I know how to keep shit sweet even when I’m out of cake
Nah, I don’t need a dollar to thrive
Before I had an Impala to drive with models inside
I opened a book of real niggas, followed the guide
While my lioness gave me head and swallowed my pride
I took all of my problems astride, gotta survive
Even when I feel like my extended clips hollow inside
Had God on my side, started from the bottom and rise
I lost a couple of friends, caught them in lies
Like being in a relationship you need to break up and escape
Or staying with a deadbeat you need to wake up and replace
Or Donald Trump shaking hands with Martin Luther the Third
Niggas showing fake love straight up to my face
Dog, that ain’t nothing but a life lesson
I’m glad you expose yourself, I don’t like guessing
I’m in a swimming pool that’ll shock Khaled, counting my blessings
Ordering cobb salad with some light dressing
Your favorite rapper? You swear that he the craziest
Then you find out he not the savior that he say he is
All his songs fire ’cause of Holy Ghost writers
It’s like finding out the bible was written by some atheists
Man, I do this shit religiously, I do this shit religiously
Realest nigga in the industry, illest nigga in the industry
This is C.O.B

COB season
What we say? We say “all year.” We doing this all year!
I’m on fire! Yeah, [?] to the grinders
Forever, forever, forever
Out