[Verse 1: Navy Blue & Earl Sweatshirt]
Depths of the man that I was from the start
Stay next to the fam, got a place in my heart, chest
Breath on demand
The rest of the plan got scrapped when I landed, invested in arts
I do less when I stretch 'fore I hit the bar
Pull up, Tan Cress' on the shoulder of the coat of arms
Told you we the best 'til we good and gone
Yeah, love shared it was both ours
The same prayer like more dark
Blood in the water when I go to wash
Life sweet when you know the cost
Thousand-yard stare, I was looking sauced
Smoker's cough, ash in the air
Not scared when we send 'em off
That's life, black plight, can't get along
Not alone
[Verse 2: Earl Sweatshirt & Navy Blue, The Neverending Story Sample]
Tandem remarks, who the fuck playing like the brand isn't strong?
And the globe cold, that the feral hands sitting on
My ass in the throne
We running these checks and balances, on fam
Check sits, dashes at home (I want to go to Africa)
Hard work, callous the palm, that isn't wrong
Soul battered and grown, sadness is gone
[Verse 3: Danny Brown]
The Hybrid, smoking on papaya
That give you niggas bronchitis, what you write is all vagina
What I write is Wall of China, nigga, that's great
Like eighths of Grape Apes gettin' stuffed in my suitcase
Ready to hit the studio and shit all on your mixtape
Nah, literally, shit all on your mixtape
Wipe with the credits, leave stains on the jewel case
In just two takes, dog, the booth'll get souffléd
You're hiding something like a toupée
Truthfully, my friend, touché
You gon' get exposed like an up-and-coming model
And to me, your label seems like one of them pageant mamas
So guess who's the little bitch? That's you
You must suck a lot of dick, that's true
I misuse with issues and pistols
Mind racing like Bristol, heart of igloos
My nigga, you ain't been what I been through
And if so, you would take a pencil through your temple
'Cause I done served fiends on they menstrual
Ain't even had pads, stuffed they panties with tissue
Hit the ave 'cause they mouth ain't bleeding
And your style's like fried chicken without seasoning
Nigga, that's bland, fuck you up and your mans
I smack you like a bitch, nigga, that's open-hand
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
