Angels In The Outfield

[Intro: Milc]
Uh! Gotta do better…
(Wolf Side... Wolf Side...)
Yo! Aye!
(Windbreaker, Windbreaker like…)

[Verse 1: Milc]
Brill speeding up the 5, dream chasing since teenagers
Blew hundreds, back when blue 100's was green paper
And I had Buffy The Body as my screensaver
Finna make that indie shit look so good it seem major
My hair wave gracefully like Princess Diana
Smash your plug’s wife off gas station Viagra
Self-hatred – wanna kill myself and every white rapper
Lazy-eyed like Biggie, I’m just living the 'Life After'
Used to call me Bang Bang, and I drank Olde English
They put [?] in a ICE can, she ain’t know no English
Kenny hates when I drop a project with no singles
Head of lettuce in my pocket, every bill so wrinkled
Moneyball Blanco, hoes call me Brad Pitt
Sike – I look more like Jonah Hill, but keep a bad ----
Belz taught me how to count bars, turned me to a savage
Now I make hits when I’m drunk, I’m Jay Buhner at this

[Verse 2: Greg Cypher]
"Fuck a 9 to 5” been the motto since a young bol
Fought the pleasantries, now my destiny in my control
In the spot where the trunks pop and guns blow
Cops want us locked on the block like Mutombo
Bad dreams, closer to the future than the past seems
Unmasking the lies, don’t need a needle of {*beep*}
Marijuana Marlboro – my morning coffee caffeine
Sorting out my day, sitting first place in the standings
January to December work, we're never through
Mad 'cause I’m moving and making progress ahead of you?
Jetting through the skies like The Jetsons, I landed just in time
To testify the truth, the revolution won’t be televised
I got an enterprise, like my name was Captain Kirk
Finna go the distance, I’m on a mission to span the Earth
I’m grabbing everything that I could want, and then some more
Step into the booth, I got more to prove when you press record

[Verse 3: La]
I’m not cut from the same cloth as you goofy fucks
I ain’t have no stunt doubles doing these movie stunts
Sixteen – chopping the brick, smoking a chewy blunt
My bitch bougie, in red bottoms holding the Louie clutch
And we grow cookies, you smoke cookies
What else we got in common with all of these broke pussies?
I choke rookies, slap old rappers who think we owe 'em something
You ain’t an O.G. of shit – you just old and frontin'
Like the bitches giving top on the strip, get ‘em blown for nothing
And it’s no discussion, the flow’s disgusting
This rapping shit is no threat to me
The clip is holding 70, the kid is glowing heavenly
They pissed 'cause the whip European like Chloe Sevigny
And when I’m shooting like this, I could go for 70
Acting like they can’t get strangled in their house still
Turn demons on the in-crowd to angels in the outfield