Report #2

The crack child
Rap style
Mad wild
Quarter circle back
Black Guile
Pulling mad files

Coming back for all the
Pringles in the snack aisle
Kente
On my textiles
From the neck down

See this charter full of artists
Goin Westbound

Dressed down
Sporting white huaraches
Where them checks bounce?

Charcoal flower
Bagging bodies
Stacking bread now

I done put the money
Where my mouth is
Talking Teds now

Got employee of the month
And so my dreads out

I’m making half you niggas
Empty out your desk now

Too many only goin hard
Because thеy friends out

Got too many fuckboys
Out here flеxing
On pretend clout

With the bullshit
You can miss me
Like a dead spouse

Smoother than a
Fugitive and
And you can check the thread count

I fuck this rhyme game
Sideways
For ten rounds

Pen pounds
To these
Pen prouds
Puffin ten pounds

I been cooking up a Christmas
And a Kwanzaa
In my kitchen
Swear it’s all up in the wrist
I’m popping carpals
(Poppin carpals)

Got a chocolate
In my chips
She want my caramel
I done puffed a couple spliffies
Tryna give her what she ordered
(What she ordered)

I saw the view across the city
We enjoyed it
But the sex was
Interrupted
By the scent of burnt DiGiornos
(God damn!)

We let it burn
And we continued
I ignored it
By the time we finished
Fifty firemen was at my doorpost

My eyes baggy
Pants saggy
Dreads nappy
Throat raspy
Dro nasty
Chose rap
He so happy tho

No cap
It’s so sad
You’re so trashy
Flow shabby
Prose crappy
Shows tacky
Bows ashy, bro
(Bro)

Don’t ask what’s in the paper bag

We getting wasted at your neighbor’s pad like it’s a skater fad

If I had twenty cents for every time I made a hater mad

Then every time I exit my my estate
I’d have to pay a tax

Got me running through the six
With six woes

And my wrist tick froze
Like I live in 04

Hit a nigga for his kicks
With those

Got this 6th street flow
In my ill fit clothes

And my missy
Got the pigment toes

At a shindig stoned
Mixing piff with cloves

Got her stripping
Where the pigs grip poles

And my pro quid quo
How this pimp shit goes

Stop and frisk him to the skin
Get gone

Get to business
Serum in the sip
He’s done
(He's out)

“We staining all the big shit
Run”

In the stick shift
Chillin
With the Knicks print ones
(So crispy)

At the crib we gonna split these funds

Ain’t one get all
It’s everyone get some

If you ain’t kin get chrome

If you ain’t fam get fades
If you ain’t cream you chump