Interlude (Groove Theory) Testo

(Verse)
Don’t you know I’m cool as the fan,
I shop at Nimens, I’m meaning them stand
Damn, it’s so hard being a man,
But is so easy cooking these grins.
Cock whip it or microwave,
My niggers off work, I get a holyday.
I’m talking rubber band racks
Enrave all the cushion but it all have been straight.
We lost many men in real shits Real niggers dying over nothing but to jealous motherfuckers
Just lose on the flat screen depresses me
If this to the left of me is stressing me
She’s upset with me cause I’m obsessed with cheese
Just inhale this weed, bitch, and let me breathe.
Don’t you know I’m cool as the breeze,
They do as they’re told, real niggers do as they please.

Martin, martin, jealous shit
I’m in the fit you niggers could never get
Only real niggers in the fellowship
Like Don low key, he will never swip.
At the round table talking prices
I’m just trying to stay full and keep the lights lit
Inflation kicking my ass,
So I grab ‘em, cook them in mass and knock a dick in the grass.
Flipping bricks off the stash, but we’re looking like 10 drinks,
Tell my bitch to cook tonight.
Real niggers get the money,
Real niggers get the fish, fraud niggers get the dummies. Lame bitches get the ones, real bitches get the twenties,
Real niggers take the sum under.
I hate you fuck boys planning to take me under,
Get in line, nigger, take a number.