Raw Freestyle

Lyrics

[Intro] Yeah, yeah Uh, they, fuck Uh, yeah [Verse] They ask me if I'm Tyler, the nasty Nigga that used to be in seventh grade, watching Degrassi' But y'all niggas and your whips with your rims And your hat with the brims, rolling right past me But I could give a fuck less about what you doing Who you screwing, who you booing I got these bitches brewing in my gold pots You could see the Rolex, the gold watch See them gold (?), bitch, you won't stop I'm in that Bape shit, all that Bathing Ape shit That shit that make you my Superman hoodie is cape shit You on that fake shit, that True Religion, Abercrombie 'postale, nigga, my T-shirt is pastel My nigga, I pass well Well past, and I pass that fucking class well And when your bitch see me, she be like "Oh my gosh, you're skinny ?, but man, you're so swell" Like I'm so swole, this Bape shit is so old Older than the ice cream shoes I have that's growing mold And they say "Ace, you're a genius" I said "I play piano, make songs, a big penis" Cause when I have 2, listening to Neptunes shit I'm never Mars or Venus, you seen this My 3-D glasses still the cleanest Enis, anus, nigga, you could paint this Here's a mothafuckin' brush, all you niggas running But I'm still not in a rush and I'm winning No braces on but I'm grinning, don't believe in God but I'm sinning (?), He-Man and She-Man and He-Man And he's dead, y'all want the rims But I'm still chilling in the mothafuckin' mini-van like What it do, what it do Fuck you and your crew, OF to the death, nah Y'all know I do bail Y'all rep y'all set until the death, my nigga, this OF until, until And nigga thats real And nigga I'm raw, I'm bigger than my boss Leaving cold, 86 degrees heat on me With your bitch screaming out my name, gagging on her knees And nigga, I'm reed, eating motherfuckin' ice cream Reese's Pieces Nigga, I'm the (?), I'm the shit You could call me Ace, The Creator, a.k.a. feces I'm eating like a feces [Outro] Hahahaha... What the fuck is my problem!? Fuck! Ayo, ay, I'mma let this one ride out though I'mma-I'mma let the keys fuck with the drums A.C.E., O-F-M, bangin' on your FM, yes It was all a dream, now I got my own magazine, word up I'm out, peace Tch Bitch!