Released: September 23, 2014
Featuring: Smoke DZA Chris Webby Nitty Scott CJ Fly
[Intro]
It's Joey Franchise in this bitch y'all
Shout out to RAW Papers
I got my homies with me; CJ Fly, Nitty Scott, Chris Webby, Smoke DZA, it's the cypher
CJ, let's go
[Verse 1: CJ Fly]
[?] magic box
That's why I like drivin' in my dad's truck
Because I'm enlightened that don't mean you won't get struck
Like a match in a box, I ain't here to lighten things up
Like a boxing match you will get touched
These are the facts
You may get brushed
If they think you deep then you may be dug
Those you expect to hate spectate like someone made 'em judge
This rap god is really hungry, M'n'Ms my lunch
The way I see it, CJ Fly you are the man
Never defeat us, you a fetus on another man
With a bare belly not a six pack abdomen
Things worked out, I got the pack like Abdu, man
For, show em the truth, I show and I prove, every show I get proved
This is pro ever and ever did they boo?
Before the money comin' soon
Almost ready to debut
(Fly !)
[Verse 2: Nitty Scott]
(Shout out to RAW Papers)
It's the
Queen of the cosmos, cream of the convo
The wavy Buddha baby, get your lady a poncho
Hit you with the darn flow, the two-piece combo
And after Eric Garner, we ain't fucking with Five-O
A bright being inhaling these God particles
Why these niggas whine like Jamaicans up at the carnival
Uninhibited in habitats to be had
You just pack a lot of racket with an act to be mad
Young, black, and gifted and no gas, I'm lifted
Know that I'm crafty when I crack the cryptics
Where are the pickets, I picks on the bigots
And why when you kick it all I hear is crickets
I been true, pen game tend to offend who
Fronting on the camera just like pretends do
I was rocking venues I couldn't get into
19, right, never guess what I been through
You missing the old me, so listen to old me
Refuse to let the motherfucking masses control me
Used to love the caterpillar, now you hate the butterfly?
Fronting on my catalog like I don't keep it gutta, why?
Fuck it, I recover, suckers utter in another life
I just feed them supper like a rubber in your mother's eye
Ha, so won't you pass it to a pacifist
Tired of these hoes getting fancy with Kirk Lazarus
That was hazardous, but I speak compassionate
Fuck it in my bucket, word to Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Blasphemous, I mastered this, ashing on an activist
Said she want to see the [?], she had to be a masochist
Y'all ain't got no poetry, all your talk is cancerous
Art school mommy, catch me macking with the manuscript
[Verse 3: Chris Webby]
(Yeah)
(It's Chris Webby)
(Connecticut what up man?)
Motherfucker I'm a sick puppy
I'm like a young husky with tapeworms
I came in here to spit, if they stutter I'm taking their turns
Cause I'm so F-F-F
Fucking nice that I'll need eight turns
Battle? You'll be leaving like Spawn, covered in face burns
Me on the mic, you'll see the coroners watch
Just waiting to carry what's left of the beat up off of the block
The company that brought me here
Knows that I'm RAW when I rock
Your jaw's gonna drop whether written or off of the top
Italiano, I'mma bring a pot of sauce to your spot
Do you like Michael did Sollozzo when that officer watched
You'll barely get to taste of veal, quit your talking and stop
I'm seein' red just like a cowboy killer Marlboro box
Say I'm not dope? They almost like to argue a lot
Cause y'all are tripping like you're on that shit that Mario pops
But I'm a fun guy, women say I'm awkwardly hot
That's why your girl is at my parents crib offering twat
I'm like: "Honey, my mom and dad are here
So let me call a cab up dear
While I do that you look up a telly on Google Maps, you hear?
And nothing too expensive
I'm not broke but I got taxes, it's cool
Watch the work I put in, you'll call me Vladimir"
Lyrics out the stratosphere, I'm over your head
Killing shit, but haters want to see me choking instead
Want to see me? Shine a black light right over your bed
Now you know what your girl been doing
When you go to your friend's
Get more neck than an egret wearing a v-neck
Don't even know how she can breathe
Why she ain't leave yet?
They call me Webby, got that Peter Parker reflex
The most underrated MC yet
Some people heard me six years ago
When they saying that Webby sucks
But y'all ain't checked up on me lately
Huh, homie? I've leveled up
Better bars, better flow, better bitch with a better butt
That's why they better bet on me
Cause I bet when they stepping up
Swing, batter batter, I'ma strike 'em when we settle up
And rhyme so fucking hard
That my wheels fell off the metal trucks
Never had no metal tucked, only gun I got is on Nintendo
When I'm pulling that shit out I'm popping every duck
You better duck up, better luck next time
Cause the white boy from the burbs is like a phone sex line
Yeah I'm fucking you with my words when I be blazing on a beat
And after this, you would think they named the papers after me
RAW
[Verse 4: Smoke DZA]
(Kush Thought, Bitch)
No permits we shot the block down
Control shit when I'm not round, jot down
DZA on her titties take a flick to the 'Gram
Get pussy by accident, kid never in sand
Everybody is industry, where the fuck is the fans?
You niggas is tired, where the Michelin Man at?
Cool like I popped me a Xanax, but I don't do none of that
My demeanor don't command that
This god-like flow, keep me booked
Smokin' all that dope, keep me cooked
BBQin' in the park or on a buildin' duckin' narcs
Still lyrically killing every new rapper in New York
Eye attached you can't see I
It's all love though, head-nods and peace signs
The loss of memorial (?)
This song ain't shit if the Kush God ain't involved, I'm out
It's Joey Franchise in this bitch y'all
Shout out to RAW Papers
I got my homies with me; CJ Fly, Nitty Scott, Chris Webby, Smoke DZA, it's the cypher
CJ, let's go
[Verse 1: CJ Fly]
[?] magic box
That's why I like drivin' in my dad's truck
Because I'm enlightened that don't mean you won't get struck
Like a match in a box, I ain't here to lighten things up
Like a boxing match you will get touched
These are the facts
You may get brushed
If they think you deep then you may be dug
Those you expect to hate spectate like someone made 'em judge
This rap god is really hungry, M'n'Ms my lunch
The way I see it, CJ Fly you are the man
Never defeat us, you a fetus on another man
With a bare belly not a six pack abdomen
Things worked out, I got the pack like Abdu, man
For, show em the truth, I show and I prove, every show I get proved
This is pro ever and ever did they boo?
Before the money comin' soon
Almost ready to debut
(Fly !)
[Verse 2: Nitty Scott]
(Shout out to RAW Papers)
It's the
Queen of the cosmos, cream of the convo
The wavy Buddha baby, get your lady a poncho
Hit you with the darn flow, the two-piece combo
And after Eric Garner, we ain't fucking with Five-O
A bright being inhaling these God particles
Why these niggas whine like Jamaicans up at the carnival
Uninhibited in habitats to be had
You just pack a lot of racket with an act to be mad
Young, black, and gifted and no gas, I'm lifted
Know that I'm crafty when I crack the cryptics
Where are the pickets, I picks on the bigots
And why when you kick it all I hear is crickets
I been true, pen game tend to offend who
Fronting on the camera just like pretends do
I was rocking venues I couldn't get into
19, right, never guess what I been through
You missing the old me, so listen to old me
Refuse to let the motherfucking masses control me
Used to love the caterpillar, now you hate the butterfly?
Fronting on my catalog like I don't keep it gutta, why?
Fuck it, I recover, suckers utter in another life
I just feed them supper like a rubber in your mother's eye
Ha, so won't you pass it to a pacifist
Tired of these hoes getting fancy with Kirk Lazarus
That was hazardous, but I speak compassionate
Fuck it in my bucket, word to Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Blasphemous, I mastered this, ashing on an activist
Said she want to see the [?], she had to be a masochist
Y'all ain't got no poetry, all your talk is cancerous
Art school mommy, catch me macking with the manuscript
[Verse 3: Chris Webby]
(Yeah)
(It's Chris Webby)
(Connecticut what up man?)
Motherfucker I'm a sick puppy
I'm like a young husky with tapeworms
I came in here to spit, if they stutter I'm taking their turns
Cause I'm so F-F-F
Fucking nice that I'll need eight turns
Battle? You'll be leaving like Spawn, covered in face burns
Me on the mic, you'll see the coroners watch
Just waiting to carry what's left of the beat up off of the block
The company that brought me here
Knows that I'm RAW when I rock
Your jaw's gonna drop whether written or off of the top
Italiano, I'mma bring a pot of sauce to your spot
Do you like Michael did Sollozzo when that officer watched
You'll barely get to taste of veal, quit your talking and stop
I'm seein' red just like a cowboy killer Marlboro box
Say I'm not dope? They almost like to argue a lot
Cause y'all are tripping like you're on that shit that Mario pops
But I'm a fun guy, women say I'm awkwardly hot
That's why your girl is at my parents crib offering twat
I'm like: "Honey, my mom and dad are here
So let me call a cab up dear
While I do that you look up a telly on Google Maps, you hear?
And nothing too expensive
I'm not broke but I got taxes, it's cool
Watch the work I put in, you'll call me Vladimir"
Lyrics out the stratosphere, I'm over your head
Killing shit, but haters want to see me choking instead
Want to see me? Shine a black light right over your bed
Now you know what your girl been doing
When you go to your friend's
Get more neck than an egret wearing a v-neck
Don't even know how she can breathe
Why she ain't leave yet?
They call me Webby, got that Peter Parker reflex
The most underrated MC yet
Some people heard me six years ago
When they saying that Webby sucks
But y'all ain't checked up on me lately
Huh, homie? I've leveled up
Better bars, better flow, better bitch with a better butt
That's why they better bet on me
Cause I bet when they stepping up
Swing, batter batter, I'ma strike 'em when we settle up
And rhyme so fucking hard
That my wheels fell off the metal trucks
Never had no metal tucked, only gun I got is on Nintendo
When I'm pulling that shit out I'm popping every duck
You better duck up, better luck next time
Cause the white boy from the burbs is like a phone sex line
Yeah I'm fucking you with my words when I be blazing on a beat
And after this, you would think they named the papers after me
RAW
[Verse 4: Smoke DZA]
(Kush Thought, Bitch)
No permits we shot the block down
Control shit when I'm not round, jot down
DZA on her titties take a flick to the 'Gram
Get pussy by accident, kid never in sand
Everybody is industry, where the fuck is the fans?
You niggas is tired, where the Michelin Man at?
Cool like I popped me a Xanax, but I don't do none of that
My demeanor don't command that
This god-like flow, keep me booked
Smokin' all that dope, keep me cooked
BBQin' in the park or on a buildin' duckin' narcs
Still lyrically killing every new rapper in New York
Eye attached you can't see I
It's all love though, head-nods and peace signs
The loss of memorial (?)
This song ain't shit if the Kush God ain't involved, I'm out
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