LYRICS
You don't want it fresh
You think you right and then you call that hate
Only some can go from rapper to pastor like Murder Mace
Oh, you fake
Think you slick but I'm awake
You gettin' more favors than Petters
Or the collection plates on Sunday mornin'
You not ballin' Unless its Spaulding, even then I'm scorin'
Like a young James Harden Drive, step
Oh, pardon that
Lie to your face I would never do that
Teaching my sons like I call it on Snapchat
You never see me like a back tat
I did what I want like I back taxes
Got it covered like Aflac
Good hands in All States
Planting my seeds cuz I State Farmin'
And I did this here without Jake
I'm singing, not rapping; oh, I'm finessing
Sick flow, call me Progressive
My left stroke just went viral
Right stroke put lil baby in a spiral
Soprano C, we like to keep it on a high note
It's levels to it, you and I know, chick be humble
Sit down, be humble.
Sit down, be humble.
Sit down, be humble.
Sit down, be humble.