Verse 1: Smoke DZA
You smell that fragrance
You know my steez, you know my squad, you know what my name is

The hoes call me Smokey
Rub me down, low key
Smell that strand, I mean that stench my cologne is OG

Oh he
Only talk about weed and counting loot
But what the $#&@ did you expect?

That's what I like to do
%#@! on your best outfit
And I'm on my old school Harlem, best-out %#@!

Who house this?
I'm in your fridge about to fix a plate
Feet all over your table like I own the place

On my Calvin %#@!
Slide your sister, show your brother cheese
Like "Sorry Ms. Billups, we going out to eat."

I got a hustler's aura
Plus I'm a 9-11 ^!$$% with morals
I don't owe you ^!$$%s %#@!, I ain't got nothing for ya

Unless you my CoDee, you don't know me, ^!$$% blow me

Bridge: Mad Max

OK I'll burn the !@#$ house down
But blow me first, how dare you, how $#&@ing dare you
Rrraaarggghh


Verse 2: Smoke DZA
I get it in, buckets like Gilligan

Plus the riddles I riddle like I'm on Ritalin
Competition is little cause I get rid of them
I'm illa' then, whoever that you considerin'

I give a $#&@ how ^!$$%s feelin' bout who's hot, son
Cause opinions are like Facebook, everybody got one
I ain't into fiction, that's a James Cameron feel

I'm more like Michael Moore, what I document is real
I hate a ^!$$% trying to give advice
Talking that killer %#@! and he don't live that life

Focus up
Don't $#&@ up your day shift
Go ahead and miss me with that "back-in-the-day" %#@!

^!$$%s will tell you anything, foolery
Whole lifestyle just ghetto buffoonery
I'm on your heels, ^!$$%s better pay homage

It's fair warnin' cause the game's on orange

Outro: Mad Max

You look like a $#&@ing (*##$ in heat
And if you get raped by a pack of !@$@s it'll be your fault. All right?
That's my $#&@ing mistake, because I should've woke you up and said, '$#&@ing blow me, (*##$.'

I should've $#&@ing woken you up and said 'blow me.' You would've liked that better, yeah?
(panting) Because you got problems, more than me
You know how to $#&@ing push my buttons