Five

Bitch, you got a lot of balls for a small no name
 You're so lame, you claim you God, you Kanye on cocaine
 Yo, you will not blow my mind bitch, I am not Cobane
 Your dame is known for blowing sacks, we call her John Coltrane
 You sling hashish in back streets, count cash off bitches ass cheeks
 In backseats of flashy whips, you finna give pigs a bakchich
 (Trash) you rap to get the mass to think you're nasty
 But you're snitching on your own silly ass, you Brendan Dassey
 And we ain't shook (why?) Because you ain't Suge (Knight)
 Who would write about their crimes besides the fake crook (type?)
 You like to pose with broads for a Facebook like
 While I bang broads and can't recall what their face look like
 I pipe your wifey like a (hoe), slap the bitch and chant (yolo)
 I like her and tapped her twice like an Instagram photo
 You can rip my damn polo, snatch my silver Han Cholo
 But you can't hate on my game or diss a man's mojo
 So, get angry if you want, kid, I won't get the damn popo
 But don't lift your hands (bro), your fists they tend to land slow mo
 I'm a skinny man but when mad I'll whip your fam (dolo)
 Stomp my soles on your throat and stamp a Timberland logo
 Word to the motherfucking tree on my Tim
 Word to the motherfucking tree on my Tim
 Word to the motherfucking tree on my Tim
 Word to the motherfucking tree on my Tim