Yeah, DJ Clue Desert Storm, aight We gon' set shit off You know how we do things, word Hahahahahahaha In a Ferrari or Lamb truck switchin' wide lanes (one) Top down screamin' out them niggas all lame (one two) Came up from the mud puddles, then it all changed (check me out right here, yo) Livin' Ghetto Fab like my brother named Paul Cain Somewhere 'long the way, I hate to say we lost shame (you can turn the track up a little bit for me) Grown men peddlin' gossip of all things (all up in my ears) I remember when it was rappin' and ball-playin' (the mic is loud, but the music isn't loud) Now the bread and butter is yappin' and parlayin' Aw man, your name's a big conversation (yeah) Max deals for Luka Dončić lobbin' to Ayton (yeah) Know, nowadays, you can make a grip commentatin' (yeah, now the mic is low now, turn the mics up some more) If you master two skills: Either dick ridin' or hatin' (turn that shit all the way up, yeah) Just look around, the hatin' and the dick ridin' is blatant Tell Mama your ticket to finally live out of her basement Was found in one magical word, and it's engagement (uh-huh) And nothing brings that like drama, you might wanna (uh-huh, uh-huh) Personally, I don't write comments, I write commas Withdrawals, from pictures the pen draws, The Fall-Off They wanna know if this is the end-all, be-all To this rap game, he's trained in CPR (Clueminati) I'm a whole new breed for those that wonder who he think he is That thunder at night that wake up the sleepyheads Just when you thought that your boy was completely dead Boom, walked out that tomb like Matthew said that Jesus did With the whole game on his shoulders, not even strainin' to hold it I can spin it 'round my fingers and bowl it When I write, it's like I'm guided by the angels, I noticed It's like the ghost of Christopher Wallace had came in and wrote it First name Jermaine, and it's goated Never once has fame been the motive, far from it Respect first, next up my net worth The best verse belongs to the nigga that should live in the Bronx Zoo I stomp through on some King Kong shit Long ding-dong shit, pause I rinsed off the sauce y'all got lost in All this false flossin', dawg, it's exhaustin' right? I hate these rappers like I'm Charleston White Give arthritis to authors It's hard to write as hard as the God does Y'all toddlers to me, stop botherin' me Young Simba, some niggas threw some hate my way But only thing they should say is: Cole, you like a father to me The top ain't really what I thought it would be And so I jumped off and landed back at the bottom And restarted at a level where I wasn't regarded as much Just to climb past them again and tell 'em all to keep up I love it Truly, I'm agin' backwards In the sandboxes, I play with trappers The K's pop like Asian rappers The bullets graze the Afros Piercin' through front doors And left holes in a baby mama's favorite bathrobe Uh, thank God no one was home I'm so in the zone Might wake up at four in the mornin' Start mowin' the lawn, discover the snakes Pull up to your place and go in alone Creep to your room, put four in your dome If your girl scream, tell the queen: Bitch, lower your tone Ay, matter of fact, go on your phone Add me on IG I used to be top seed Apology dropped me way out of the top three No problem, I'm probably my best when they doubt me Watch me, watch me, watch me DJ Clue (Whoo Kid) Desert Storm (DJ Clue) J, cole, ha Hahahahahahaha Hahahahahahaha