Babushka

Yo, you ready? (One, two, three, four)
Aight, go

Prefer to kick back, count stacks
Eat Count Chocula in my pajamas
Can't slap a deadline on something that's timeless
Next year, open it for promise (I promise)
You'll be done talking out the side of your mouth
Like Don Imus, like what you thought I was doing before?
I dropped that eponymous, and man I kinda miss being anonymous
There's more to it than rap
You have to be some sort of politician (slash)
Social worker, slash economist
I ain't fond of this rigmarole
And there's no need to dig him a hole (did it yourself, stupid)
Hit the scene like a big comet
But I felt like Howard Stern dealing with Pig Vomit
No Wonderama shit with me and my conglomerate now
Fuck with me, get ya momma hit (blaow)
It's way too safe in this climate
Catch him while he punch and punch him in the face
Knock over his kale omelette (ha)
And that cute little salad with balsamic (vinaigrette)
Put him in the fiend like a needle, fuck a homic'
Just might catch a wedgie, that's atomic (uh)
We bombing on 'em like standup comics
At the Cellar, soon-to-be bestsellers, storyteller
Y'all cats is Uri Geller
Go to court, prosecutors, kid, just play your acapella
With that pen you- what?
Get the fuck out my face

Yerr (yo)
What's good? Shit sound aight?
That shit burtiful nigga, y'heard? (You lyin')
You know what I mean, we just gon' use that as is (woo, woo, woo, woo)
Ooh, yo, my grandma bump this shit bro, deadass