{Verse 1}

Been a bad example of wack for the longest, no one would prove me wrong
Now I’m back from a long rest showing I do belong
With a knack for the drawn sets, going right through the pawns
That would lack all those contents, so I just move along

Deemed it long division: I take the time just to break it down
So clowns hang on my every word and won’t make a sound
Astound anyone who’s deserving of greater rounds
‘cause now bums have left me disturbed through the traits I found

Since I found them, it hasn’t shattered my pride
So I’m defending my work without the lateral slides
Power through with these planned pairs as I’m stuck in the groove
With Chaundon on the fanfare, I have nothing to prove

Skipped moving with trends for I’m to stable with statements
Been rude with the pen since what I’ve made has been adjacent
So just face it… I’m molding a legend to leave behind
So don’t whine when the tier list is bound to be realigned


{Chorus}

And it’s like that; once I feel the hype of the horns,
I recite that; once I feel the slightest of scorn,
Then I strike back; it’s difficult to fight what I’ve formed
And despite that, I know you like that

And money, it's like that; once I feel the hype of the horns,
I recite that; once I feel the slightest of scorn,
Then I strike back; it’s difficult to fight what I’ve formed
And despite that, I know you like that

Money, it's like that


{Verse 2}

And that’s the way it is, so word to the Hollis Kings
Dialect is making each foe fall to the honest strings
While some can’t hide the strings of the marionettes
‘cause if you’re manipulated, how do you carry a threat?

A product of The Rugged Child, Big Daddy Kane
So while most can’t walk how they talk it, I limp at the grain
Ignoring currents while slinging what’s churned in a verse
Bitch, turn up for what? I’m bringing a turn for the worse

Worsening your work with some polish and no apologies
Bullheaded on beats; demolish them is the policy
Possessing the only thing that thrills them
The minute that I snap in that pocket, I deliver at Wilson (Will, son)

Still shunning the secondary
The gab is still the gimmick, so I left every effort weary
Hence why the banter matches the bop, so I got this in the bag
The gold standard of stanzas alluded by Trinidad


{Chorus}