The Followers

[Produced by Pro Reese & Marce Reazon]

[Verse 1]

Yeah, what’s it all for? Trust in no man, but give it up to my Lord

Am I influencing type wars from maricons?

There’s levels to this fellowship, you stuck on the same board

Truly provoking, shining new light through my songs

Get women open, I should moonlight designing doors

Oh that’s swag, call me trash, who y'all’s source?

Cause y’all sheep, the way I see it you’re all lost

Look what I encompass while you lacking direction

I would be the guy, Mike, twas a looking fly Olympics

Anyone, Jordan, Johnson, Phelp shit

I can off-hand, hit you writin' strong hand hits

In the zone little nigga doing small bong rips

And my broad doing things only saw on flicks

Aww shit, I’m the man, ho

Dunk Lows, only those CO Japan, ho

Money fold, women close got me paranoid

My only fear, to lose y'all ear at wedding ceremonies

Either way they should be voided

[Hook]

Follow me, follow me or forget me, follow me (x3)

Follow me, follow me or forgive me, ‘cause y’all about to see

[Sample]

(The point is I intend to undertake this. And I'll do it with or without you. So if you're scared, if you haven't got the stomach for this, let's get it out right now! And I'll go on my own. If not, you can get on board and we can get to work! Now what's it going to be?)

[Verse 2]

But nigga is you crazy? They say I lost a step

Like the second wedding ring bearer somewhere in the orphanage is, and could you blame me?

But the anger I express, providing messages, it’s now apparent you forced the kid

And you hate me, but you too lazy to decipher what I’m writin' and I say to vent

“Oh, I never fall off I get my Beal, John Wall on”

Bills fill up that Goyard, your bitch nickname is hold on

So called my jump off, she so far my call log

Y'all speak like y'all pack heat, y'all street fight like Balrog

En garde, en garde, yeah, touche

Life’s lemon, so while I'm in it, I'm making Kool-Aid

Hold your bread, it’s not what you getting, but what you save

Hold your head like in a blizzard rockin’ a toupe

Move, Folarin probably coming through

Camera roll like Pornhub, closet look like Karmaloop

Oh Folarin probably letting off, inbox like model calls

Closet look like Bergdorf, checks ain’t near stop

But I never fall to what rich niggas care about

Birds in my parent’s house, shot, fuck malaria

Back to the spot I still rock the rarest apparel, yah

[Hook]