Listen, you might learn some
Jahlil Beats, holla at me
Kiss where you been, where you at
This rap is wack
I want that old thing back
I want that old thing back
Some niggas tell a lot, some niggas sell a lot
Some niggas used to be mad nice, then fell a lot
Albums still trash I don't care who the hell you got
Portraying the role of a G, we can tell you not
Sorry to bother you, I'm only doing what a father do
Your production is horrible, you'll forever be a nerd
And your metaphors are better off, never being heard
I came in grinding, Puff made me shining
Put 'em both together, a protege of the 90's
Grew up, put that bullshit behind me
Started making niggas demises untimely
Looking for me, come to the hood you can find me
Gucci belt right on the waist where the 9 be
.38 right in the garbage, where the packs at
M1 right in the trunk, where the jacks at
Whoever is in arm length will get backslapped
Cause I ain't playing with these rap cats
This is the flow you can't learn
The dutch you can't burn
Nigga, I've got stripes you can't earn
Method Man, where you been where you at
These rap niggas is wack, I want that old thang back
Yeah, I want that old thang back
Yeah, I want that old thang back
need a dopefiend track
Let me shoot up and lean back
With this needle stuck in my arm, never tuck in my charm
Most my team sling crack
If I hit every corner with G packs
Might cause the man DC to relapse
Hip hop junkies, who needs rap?
MC's wack, Killerbees is back in the booth
And fuck a style
where his battery at
The bastard child of Clarence Thomas and Reagonomics
On every 1st and 15th make sure you bring me
Might break a promise but never breaking the code
coke in the pot, fiend at the stove
Meth, rock a W on my clothes
I'm a straight rider, straight to the devil with these hoes
I'm straight fire, these motherfuckers is froze
Like a skinny supermodel that like to powder her nose
Redman, where you been where you at
These rap niggas is wack, I want that old thang back
I want that old thang back
I want that old thang back
Dope boy, I'm like Rick James, I got that old thang
I got a gold chain, with gold frames
Doc doing the runnerman on Soul Train
With a chinese girl, the chicken get Lo Mein
Propane for the raw, I put her on the streets
My thoughts, the blue magic put on the beats
Game time, Doc rocket like
Straight vegetarian nigga and ignore the beef
keep the blow smoking
Slide in the club, cool like the floor frozen
Check out the wild thang got a loco
Big ass and high heels with the toes open
That's me, 90's MC
Fuck a Grammy awards, underground is tax free
Look in the mirror I feel fantastic
The mirror said 'you are, you conceited bastard'
Santana, where you been where you
These rap niggas is wack, I want that old thang back
I want that old thang back
Tell 'em I want that old thang back
I came to bring the pain
Put niggas to shame, simple and plain
They gon' remember my name
And it's all for respect not fame
So don't play with me
You could give 'em rope, they still can't hang with me
Pass the , they still can't race with me
So far ahead of these niggas they still chasing me
I wouldn't be surprised if niggas ghostwriters got ghostwriters
Nothing cease to amaze you
Labels used to care, even though they was raping me
Now it's 360 deals, modern day slavery
Fuck you pay me, I'm the one who calling
or fame over fortune
The game done changed, the sound done changed
All these niggas sound the same
The word loyalty don't even sound the same
Good thing I keep the pound, when it bang it always sound the same
I aim at the game, the real shall remain
Neck full of water like I drowned my chain
Flier than a nigga jumping out the plane
Higher than you niggas, you can finally
Better than you niggas that's without me saying
Treat the money like the work, we don't count we weight it
, aim it, blaze it, flame it
shower head, you don't want me spraying
Enough with the mumble jumble
Santana back though, can I get a drum roll?
Whole lotta kush and it's stuffed in a fronto
Fiends still say my work taste like gumbo
Yeah, bring that old thang back
I was told to whip it up and bring the whole thang back
When I was , you was jumping rope
I was runnin' out of bags, you was playing tage
While you was hop scotching, I was drop shopping
At the dealer paying cash for them paper tags
While you was pop locking, I was Glock popping
Getting to the cash, brown paper bags
Blowing money fast and it never last
Yeah, they make it fast, barely make it back
Haters gonna suffer, I'm okay with that
All this garbage, time to throw away the trash