[Intro]

Every time you make a good run at me

I just threaten your queen and back you go

You're treatin' her like she's the last lady on Earth

Your queen is just a pawn with a lot of fancy moves

Nothing more

When you see you're playin' a man who feels naked without his lady

Jump in there and take her... threaten her

And he won't be able to think about his game anymore

That's when you make your real move

[Verse 1: Boy-Moore]

Yo, yo

Is there any love in this world nigga I don't know

It seems I got a lot of friends and a lot of foes

Steady rollin' my weed up, wit at least three hoes

Out of my day, summertime dry flipping i got it made

These niggas wanna parlay but ain't putting in work

It's like turning on your homies when you doing your dirt

Make you mad cause you one deep

In these streets thinking, "Damn, will my niggas really ride for me?"

A lot niggas try to act hard, but really weak

And be them same niggas at home that's losing sleep

When my gold Jesus piece, turn silver I turn my back on it

See I ain't with that fake shit homie

I keep it real, loose lips sink shit nigga keep stunting

Nigga keep running, when them niggas on yo block gone keep it one hunnid

I heard 17 shots just last Monday, lil nigga looked just like me

Baggy jeans, fitted cap, and a fresh white tee

Back in my younger days I used to rock it like G

He went to this party after watching this movie

That was themed by the same thing that he'd just seen

Actin' out his favorite scene, bad bitches and cold drinks

But when you 19 you just don't seem to think

Niggas plotting on your soul like they did at me

They looking for your gold and your jewelries

See they know you from the burbs and they think you weak

This nigga pulled out a piece, and them shots rang out

Lil homie running scared shot dead to the ground

And these niggas foul, and that shit is wild

[Verse 2: Flowbot Jone$]

Get one thing straight, I don't spit lyrics I grant blessings

Socrates spirit tasked with asking grand questions

It's Flowbot Jone$, spit mo' hot poems as lessons

Number one, don't let short tempers run to long stretches

Two, there's more than red and green, see past the present

Three, use talent you blessed with, mine you'll never guess it

Keep C4 in my spine to make these chords explosives

Cause when you get dough a boa's got sordid motions

Keep toasters holstered, and ask you what it's hitting for

I spit him four, he heart attacked and hit the floor

Shit his corpse, I tried to tell him these are death notes

And that spitting nightly, not like me, is what gives strep throat

But I digress, on to hormones and pheromones

Making whores moan and cause terror with Pharaoh bones

After our bodies make music, it's changing the sheets

But remaining a beast check the feral tones

Fangs, scales, claws, and all, swear that I was born from Smaug

Or born from God, but got a horn that prods

Scorned, never to mourn and sob

Exceptions all my tracks, my body of work's adorned in gauze