[Intro: Don Mykel & Dyme-A-Duzin]
…soul lil baby
…you know lil baby
(Young Dyma)
(Swank Sinatra)
(You invited to the barbeque)
(Crown fried)
(Playas only)
(Sheesh)
Dyma, uh
[Verse 1: Dyme-A-Duzin]
Picture me rollin'
A spliff bigger than BIG's fingers
Mind frame aimed at the land of the big spenders
Wrist on froze, oh my God, did it hit winter?
Album bout to drop this fall, it's a hit, nigga
I'm tired of these clowns, this is it
Won the Olympics need a Gold medal, endless Crown chicken and thick strippers
The living in their lyrics is fictitious, I'm authentic
It's not a role, if the boy said it, I just did it
Bridging these gaps too big for britches
Flow Chris Rivers, a lil pun
No way I can spark anticipation and then show up to the station like I'm Biggie's son
Make too many bands for you to send me on a Diddy run
Seasoned, see why I can feel some type of way
Giving singers and MCs that roam my streets the light of day
The reason for
Dymez by the duzin, the Don of this shit
Astonishin';astronomical, the dollars thats spent', illogical
My only goals to uplift 'em, inspire the gifted, never
Settle for less in this wicked land that we live in
If getting paid in blue Benjamins to focus, I'm the only elite
Train for the Wimbledon, streets claiming my innocence
Damn
I swear this shit got me feelin just like Sha'Carri
Talented and black, knowing most could never come near me
Dealing in industries insensitive to our feelings
In the process of adaptin', they after me tryna [kill me]
[Verse 2: Rome Streetz]
Players only, macaroni
All facts while your bitch wan kick back and mac on Romey
Been shinin hoes call me Goldie
Name ringing all over the internet like the best goalie
So it's a large fee for the flow, pay the dough, b
Get the picture like Adobe
The dough be, on my mind
Potent OG left my crown fried
We two kings in a county, Rome Streetz and Dymes
A dozen hoes tryna slide out their underclothes
I put 'em in a figure ford then I vamanos
4 figures for the clothes and it's Abilos
When niggas punch out your fit then it's adios (run it)
Be with hats and locs, out for blue notes
On the side, niggas shootin like cool coach
Over bread, they grip triggers on a new toast
Light you up like national grid, then they get ghost
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