Yo
Yo-yo, yo
Ahem
Nineties-era Nasty
Yeah
Yo
Ty Beats!
I need some time alone, cold, my rhymes will turn your mind to stone
That’s the work of Satan, niggas be hatin’, but I’m a pot of gold
This ain’t just me rappin’, it’s real and somethin’ you gots to know
Catch a mark nigga hatin’, get him a casket, that bastard’s ’bout to go
Whoa, Nasty baby, I’m crazy, the nineties raised me
I’m just as smart, probably smarter than half the cats who play me
Brazy, drivin’ Miss Daisy, hand on my strap
In my zone, mind on my money like, “Where that shit at?”
I’m all alone, that’s my only hope
And be damned if I’ma chase that with some phony homes—on the real
It be the ones that say, “We got this”—
That “You ain’t alone as long as I’m here”—
To pull out that Glock 9 and cocked it
He mad you got rich, but on the low, you should’ve watched him
Cats connivin’, head first into the livest object
That was your man; now, you ’bout to die quick over some fly shit
You feel reminded of your fast-life ventures and winters
Blinded ’til the flashlight enters
Yo, I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back, back, back
I got a poor man’s panache, I be stretchin’ the cash
I’m a little passive-aggressive, they go get stretchers when I’m mad
Borderline manic-depressive, rappers stressin’ me bad
Got too many less-than-impressive rappers left in my path
Better yet, we gon’ leave ’em left in the past
Someone slides—this time, I ride, you get left in the back
Who am I? I’m a titan, so be expectin’ a clash
Start to wavin’ arms at you, you’d think I’m catchin’ a cab
No questions, live the answers ’cause if you’re lookin’ to ask (Uh-huh)
Look at Meth, breakin’ bad like he cookin’ meth in the lab
Still a lethal weapon, but try and bless him with math
Rappers never learn their lesson, so I ain’t lettin’ ’em pass
I ain’t lettin’ ’em brag (Nah), I ain’t lettin’ ’em swag (Nah)
Fuck swag, just bein’ blunt, while I’m pluckin’ my ash
Y’all ain’t up in my class in the buildin’— It’s A$AP Meth
Quick to kill ’em—that’s an ASAP death
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back, back, back
Straight out the back, dog, I’m Shaq-strong, I’m breakin’ backboards
Draped in Tommy, my bitch beside me, young god body
I play the back of clubs, clique of foul youngins that’s rowdy
Fools get rowdy, ain’t nothin’ dumb, my guns from Saudi
High off the Maui, don’t trip your weed, rollin’ the finest
You know the fronto, Sucio Guapo, I’m head honcho
I sport the poncho, connects with Sandro, the illest y’all know
Killin’ ’em pronto, my funky fresh is filthy, designer
But check my rhymes, though, my verse is like atomic bombs, yo
Haters like side hoes, I peel off in the illest Tahoes
Watch out for potholes, H leanin’, that’s why he drive slow
Nast’ Diablo, the nineties-era shit in effect
Clowns be watchin’, best protect your necks (Ty Beats)
Told ya all niggas what? huh?
Told these mothafuckers, nigga!
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I bought the funky-funky Nikes, got the hat to match
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
I got a funky-funky style with a funky swag
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back
And when I kill ’em with the flow, ain’t no comin’ back, back, back
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