Steve Jobs

[Intro]
'Kay, I make bands
Woah, I make bands on my Steve, ayy (Hey, Olly)
Shoutout Steve Jobs, gang
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make (Ayy), like

[Chorus]
Really a nigga avoiding the bitches, I don’t know which one poisoning me
Really, I feel like the son of an ape
Got a number, the eight on my back no Kobe
Really, you fake with the son of a snake, I ain't turning my back on my homies
Dart to the left, got me fiending and shit
Might sneak me a hit on some demonic shit
What a boy gotta do for a bitch with a job?
Damn, getting rap money daily, I'm chilling, no jobs
I make bands on my Stevе Jobs
I make bands like I’m Stevе Jobs
I make bands on— (Ayy, damn, ayy)

[Verse]
I don't need a, mm, yeah
I don't need a, damn, ayy
I don't need a stick, I can stick you
Might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
Bitties be bogus like granny, I miss you, I need some advice
I got a baddie, I'm deep in her thigh, but I'm nervous to looking her deep in her eyes
When I look in my fantasy, thief in his eyes
Tell me I'm cute 'cause I’m empty inside
Confidently kind of evil inside, damn
When I look at my gang, it’s sleep in they eyes and they pushing right through it
Touching my [?], so I had to prove it
Tripping off X and, uh, damn
Tripping off X and created a movement
Nigga, stop talking, just live in the moment, goddamn
Got her mad, ma told me [?]
[?] to me, "You bummy, you got no motion"
Gotta make no money, you got no options
Nobody left me a way, that's a notion
I got an eight out of ten on my blocklist
Ran with the flow, buddy built like an ostrich
Paid for a feat’, then he rapped like me, ayy
I don't need a stick, I can stick you
Might as well throw bullets deep in his tissue
Niggas be bogus like granny, I miss you, I need some advice
How come the hoes want the evilest niggas?
Treat her like shit, now I'm creasing her kidney
I never crack when I'm eager to hit it
Why would I lie if she know my intention? Yeah

[Chorus]
Really a nigga avoiding the bitches, I don’t know which one poisoning me
Really, I feel like the son of an ape
Got a number, the eight on my back no Kobe
Really, you fake with the son of a snake, I ain't turning my back on my homies
What a boy gotta do for a bitch with a job?
Getting revenue daily, I'm chilling, no jobs
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make bands on my Steve Jobs
I make bands like I'm Steve Jobs (Shit)