Marcus Smart - Flee Lord, Stove God Cooks

Okay, okay

Uh-huh, okay, okay

I like this beat right here, uh-huh

Let me drum (Lord, Lord)

Top down, lettin' the sun in up the 110 (Skrrt)

Chopper in hands that’ll make a nigga lungs spin

Cruisin' up the coast, yeah, they choosin' us the most (The most)

Takeover’s complete, I’m usin' music just to boast (Uh-huh)

Violent fool, straight up bar masters in my talent pool

Nonchalant attitude (Huh), bounce around in Malibu (Woo)

Legends tappin' in, hot weapons by the Benz (Brrt)

Lord, I used to cook the coke and now I chef inside my pen (Whip)

Sippin' Gatorade and Henny, why you twistin' up the skinny?

Dyin' 'cause you lyin' and you livin' just to envy (Haha)

Shit’s scary, thirty-six shots up in the six sries (Brrt)

Play near me, patch ovr eye like I’m Nick Fury (Boom, boom, boom)

Promises is kept, been shinin' since the 'jects

And I’m killin' it with fashion, in designer shit to death (I'm killin' it with

fashion, motherfucker)

Man, I’m killin' it with fashion, in designer shit to death

A young boy screw loose (Uh-huh), they done stripped the bolts on 'em

Shoulda never sent him to pick up the work for me

Sprayed the park and had my shit inside the car

Marcus Smart, boy, was shootin' with a thirty-six on 'em (Brrt)

Said if he wasn’t in a rush, they was all goners

TEC cursive on the chest, he was gon' Sean John 'em

They were sleepin' on the God, then it dawned on 'em (What?)

My mic game different, I’m Bob Barker (Woo)

My wrist spin like the wheel

My niggas still in the field, I got busy this year

Stop hatin', nigga, you see it

Buck fifty on your face now, nigga, you seal

The John Geigers is teal

Strings wrap your ankles, when I think back, I’m thankful

'Cause the first hit I made was with the bakin' soda

Apron over the Yves Saint Laurent with the AP on 'em

Last bricks I had, they stamped the Bad Boy baby on 'em

Stove