Yes, Son

Uhhhnn, with the par-rum-pum-pum- pum
Mizzy sizzuns, stizzay cizzovered with the gizzuns
My madwizdom, too terrific
6 in the morning I'm in y'all Bitches while y'all waiting for them Jordan tickets
I'm on my last pair of sneakers
But I could crossover, like Latifah, or honey turkey on Pita
Breaddd & now you fed, I'm close, now you toast
Two on point, like you heard Patti hitting a note but
You too distorted, I fuck with Miles but I like my bitches brew imported
Next day air, send me two orders
Burn like gerd, depending on what is served
If I find you on the curb, out of line I might swerve
Old niggas tryna be hard like Senior Mafia
Leo got an Oscar now I need my chicken with Sriracha
Cause I'm reanimating blunts when they go out
Madwiz the God close shows when I show out
Biatch, watchu know bout, vicarious death
To yo mans ego when I hit em with a hard left
DEATH, buried in a hurry if you scurry
The zodiac killer ain't got shit on Ill Murray
Ease back... ease back ease back
My shit is intact. Got no room for your wack
Cause this is my personal space and maybe I got OCD
But if your names Coochie or weed, stay close to me
Hope for me, eat buttered toast with me
A real bitch could sit and watch Oprah with me
Cause I got my own TV, this ain’t no day room
I take a bitch to my play room, sheath my sword slay pooms, yes son