Da Cook up - Rigz, Fred The Godson

On the avenue, I compete to the death

Finance guns, but hit you when you least expect (damn!)

Propaganda, spit with the proper grammar

Metaphors become apparent, ya pop, ya grandma (woo!)

If you owe grams or they’ll pop ya grandma

Bury you in your 11's, just Cap & Gown us (Jordans)

I got niggas comin' off of parole (right)

I’m a (?) favorite, they know I authored the flow (uh huh)

Texted this A&R two bars, label offered me dough (uh)

Was at the table with blow, I just wasn’t able to go

My boy Rigz, you (?) (what up boy?)

That mumble rap is dead, shit

I should speak at these shows (haha)

So y’all can know what I be learnin'

And easy to get my point across, I’m coachin' Kyrie Irving, I’m God

I validate my worth, nothin' can stop me

Fuck awards

When I get my first Grammy, I’ma piss in it probably (for sure)

Leave him stiff in his lobby (he dead)

Lay a verse and flake it up

Same way they did Pablo, I took a pic with the body (haha)

Ain’t got no Bent or no Masi, I be floatin' the East

With work that’s worth way more than them foreigns you lease (stupid)

Lower the tint, fifth out, say what you meant (want a shot?)

Took his Cuban 'cause my man said he lay with the rent

Can’t picture me spark violence and talk knowledge

In small sizes, just 'cause it’s what my peers call stylish

Confused with my forefathers, I spent years cookin'

They weird lookin', sore attitudes but bench riders

I got verses for sale, if niggas' runnin' out

I’m the villain, grabbin' some Timbs and stomp ya cousin out

It’s clear, mighta have a monstrous rookie year

I solemnly swear, the shit on whoever you put me near, yeah