The Point
(I'm gonna get your vocals real quick)
Alright, cool
(Here it comes)
Ugh, right off the rippy I need some tippy top
Just give me three Mississippi, I’ll get the city hot
The bigger the sucker, the bigger shit he pop
And I’m still at your bitch’s crib for a pity stop
Your man crush braggin' about how lit he got
And that’s not a selfie, bitch, that’s a titty shot
Miss Piggy, I’m lovin' the way you diddy bop
You get the point
Margaritas at Margaritas, the tacos comin'
Don’t even lick on my dick if you ain’t gone swallow nuttin’
You make me sick, the shit you do for a follow button
That’s a hollow stomach, I don’t know how you stomach
I still pay for decisions made in two thousand nine
The system hopes I decline, Susan says I’ll be fine
I’d rather waste energy than my time
Pussy, you still pretend to be on your grind
Ugh, smoke like a hippy, sippin' my sippy cup
Bitch, I just need a quickie, get me my pick-me-up
Dick in my belt, keepin' my stiffy tucked
I still get a rush off the work, I’m never busy enough
I’ll know that it’s love whenever it isn’t lust
I’ve watched how you played your cards when I didn’t bluff
I listened up, the goose, I ain’t no sittin' duck
You get the point
Bozo want seconds on who I boink
My diss records don’t disappoint
Five nine, dreamin' about a Royce
I ain’t even seen this shit as a choice
All your friends are just people that you exploit
Your whole squad’s lookin' retarded when you rejoice
Bitch, I keep offensiveness in my voice
You offended or annoyed
Pussy that I avoid
Ugh, if I’m feelin’ iffy, I’m dippin’ Jiffy fast
Bitch got a whole lot of secrets inside that Vicky bag
No blood, no foul, you gettin' ticky tack
Can’t even bark at you kitty cats, you wicky wack
My dick in your mouth, who you gettin' lippy at?
Anyway, hit me back just to chat
Truly yours, don’t even ask where I’m really at
Steve Nash, you get the point
Too many birds in the coupe, I had to get 'em gone
Bitch, I might’ve played nice, but I was never fond
If she ever played Jay, that was a clever jawn
But I find satisfaction provin' oppressors wrong
I’m most comfortable when the pressure’s on
Anxious to be at home, get my depression on
They ask why me and these rappers ain’t on a fuckin’ song
Or if we don’t get along, the answer, you get the point
