FYM

[Verse 1: Joyner Lucas]

Picture me putting my city all over the map

(Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah)

They wasn't believers, I had to get even at math

(What, what, what, what)

Be coming, I'm pulling and jumping all over your grass

(Yeah, yeah, whoa, whoa, uh)

So tell all my bitches I got a new girl

Tell the police that I'm robbing the bank and I want all of my 50's in cash

Bitch, I'm tired of living, check to check

I need twenty models and some extra sex

Smiling in my grave, bitch I'm fresh to death

I've been drinking Wu-Tang with Inspectah Deck getting drunk (Skrt)

Yeah, I got some shit that I gotta just get off my chest

(Whoa, uh, uh, uh, yeah, damn)

I can admit I got lots on my list and you next (uh, uh)

Take it how you want it, I ain't famous like I want it

But I think I might just skrrt off, blow the speakers and turn up

Pop a bottle of Smirnoff, go to church with my shirt off

Tell the Lord that I'm here now, I've been waiting for so long

I've been patient for so long, breaking rules like there's no laws

And I did it for a long time

If you don't like me, take a ticket, there's a long line

Nice to meet me, hoe, I think the pleasure's all mine

Shit, they've been clocking me so long, I think they lost time

[Chorus: Joyner Lucas]

Ooh you lost your mind, nigga

Fuck you mean? Whoo! Hol' on

Goddamn it, nigga

Fuck you mean? Whoo!

And I don't trust a mothafucking soul

What the fuck you mean? Whoo!

Hol' up, whoa whoa whoa whoa

What the fuck you mean? Whoo! (Hol up now)

Look

[Verse 2: Joyner Lucas]

Don't know what you thinkin', compare me to niggas is nothing

(Uh, uh, uh, what, what)

Adrenaline pumping and blood'll be leaking and running

(Word, word, yeah, yeah, uh)

Shit, I do what I do, I don't care if you like it or love it

(Nah, nah, uh, uh, Joyner)

Tell all of my bitches I got a new girl, wait

And tell the police that I'm robbing the bank and I want all my money in 100s

Bitch, I'm tired of living on the edge

I wanna sell drugs but they gon' call the feds

I just bought a brick and that shit cost an arm and leg

My momma told me, "Take it back and get a job instead"

(Where's your common sense, nigga?)

Me and the devil got too much in common, I swear

(Damn, uh, uh, damn, uh)

Born in the ghetto, I never had nothing to fear (nah, nah)

Take it how you want it, I ain't famous like I want it

So, I might just throw a hissy fit

Call up Cassie, ask her if she broke up with Diddy yet

I said shawty, if she's talking I ain't hitting it

Cause she gon' call her friends up and brag about the shit we did

Whoa, I ain't into pillow talking, go chop off your lips

If I ain't in your top ten, go dive off a bridge

My block boys got Glock fours that'll knock off your lid

I doubt you gon' pop off, so hop off my dick

Whoo!

[Chorus: Joyner Lucas]

Nigga, fuck you mean? Whoo!

Goddamn it, I said fuck you mean?!

Listen, I don't trust a muthafucking soul

Nigga, no, nigga, fuck you mean?!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

What the fuck you mean?!

[Verse 3: Mystikal]

You thought I was finished, you thought it was over?

You thought I retired, you thought I went fishing with Kobe?

Nigga, I'm still as the illest, considered as one of the coldest

Still-a pull apart in a rapper head like Moses, mm-hm

I'm throwback like I'm Motorola

But hoe, I'm cooler than a cup of yogurt

Black flag, Crip boy, truck soldier

I'm cool with drug lords and Ayatollah's

Rap god, cyclops and ogre

Bitch I'm King Kong, ain't nobody told ya?

Fuck you think bro still smoking?

Aww fuck it, I'm Bobby Brown, 'bout to go get loaded

Retarded Paul McCartney, bitch I'm rich

I'm Muhammad Ali, I talk shit

I'm James Brown, bout to tear down this bitch

I'm Michael Jackson, bitch I'm bad as bad gon' get (oww!)

Fuck you mean?

[Voicemail]

Yo wassup, this is Joyner

I'm unable to take your call right now

Leave me a brief message and I'll get back to you, peace

[Brief Message]

Yo, this is the third time this week

That you failed to pick up your son, and I'm just so confused

Like I find it funny that you stay in the studio laying something down

Slanging mixtapes but you have yet to bring home diapers

And lay your kid down and go to sleep

On Snapchat talking 'bout, "Where's the plug?"

Like I’m sure he’s at National Grid tryna cut my lights back on

Like "a dollar and a dream" ass career

And you can't even come home and give us a dollar for some fucking milk

I'm not doing this with you, keep it 100, my nigga