Nothing to Worry About - Action Bronson

Do this thing, this type of thing

Put a little money in this type of thing

I’ve got nothing to worry about

I’ve got nothing to worry about

Speak in the third person, he don’t like it when he overlooked

Last year he was a cook, always been a crook

Handing money out, his palms are feeling itchy

You still a bitch if you bitch, b

He make the paper, never made he, seat laid back

In a five wagon, champagne, eat off rap

Twin angels made of porcelain

Prayer scripted on the black Steve Austin shit

Yo, you lost it, kid

Call my Peter Luger Junior, keen shop house in shorts

Island hopping, winter time

Pad Thai with the peanuts and the bitter lime

And shorty will take a shit on the chest of any stupid bitch that you consider

fine

He one of a kind off the couch

He piss standing up

He read books and write poetry

And he strong as a Samoan

Straight from Flushing and you know it, bitch

Negative, why always so negative?

If you have problems, why don’t you go solve them?