You’re Just Mad

[Verse 1]
I think that you're just mad
Cause I spit my rhymes and I squeeze my limes
More than there are writers for the New York Times
And while you're out there just scrounging for dimes
I'm just right out there accumulating fines
Cause I ain't paying for shit and I'm doing all my crimes
But sometimes, things just get terrible
And it feels unbearable
And I know I will never understand it all
So then I get some drugs and I don't mean Tylenol
Which makes me get stoned off of my balls
And then I say shit like, "L-O-L is a word, it's lol"
So if you think I'm playing with you like a doll
Then get some beer in a glass real tall
Really quick now, be sure to drink it all
Cause it'll make your imagination hit a wall
Hope that'll make you realize that I make the calls

[Hook]
Yeah, so I think you're just mad cause I'm a straight-up G
And you ain't ever gonna catch up with me
Since I'm better than Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee
And you losing at this is just complimentary
And you might all think you're better than me, better than me
But I think we gon' see when I got an album out for free
But I still make money, yeah man, that's how I'm gonna be

[Verse 2]
Now man, I be eating this pussy for breakfast
And no, I don't really think that I'm too reckless
And if you wanna speak to me, you gotta get outta my face first
Cause your words will start to slur and just make no sense
But none of that even makes a difference
So I take you out for a ride in a car I got for rents
My joint is steaming up the windows so I open the air vents
Go swerving off the road and crash my ass into a fence
You ain't too lucky, though, you ended up dead, so gents
Y'all just might wanna think before you gimme your two cents
Cause I'm gonna be popular in more than eight continents
Oh shit, need to return this car with a couple of dents...

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
And also, I think you just mad cause erry day
I'm rolling two way on a one way
Flying backwards on a runway
Weaving in and out of traffic on an expressway
Never paying for rides on the motherfucking subway
Then the feds catch up with me and tell me court's on Sunday
So I grab another fake ID the very next day
Then go out and fake my death so I don't gotta pay
Come on, man, what the hell is there that they can say
At my funeral them bitches all let my album play
But they all don't know that I'll be back in May
Cooking up more lyrics, just call me Bobby Flay
So all you assholes who think that soon, I'mma leave the game
I think y'all motherfuckers should know that I'm here to stay
So if me telling you this makes you mad
Then that's just too bad
Cause you're just mad