[Intro: Que Hampton & Skit]

Hey, young boy hanging in there so far (Will you shut the fuck up?)

He doing pretty good (Unpause it, and let him speak then)

Hey, hey, hey, who the fuck you talking to? (I’m talking to you, motherfucker)

I’ll bust your head, bitch (I’ll bust your head, bitch)

Think— Think I won’t, think I won’t

Paralyzed, I got his soul tapped

A ghost in his body, and black control that

Paralyzed, I got his soul tapped

A ghost in his body, and black control that (Uh)

[Verse One]

Consider yourselves dead men walking

This the zombie aPROcalypse

Hit sword chop swings til connected to your jaw, dropped

Show you who really out in the field, you stand at short stop position

Catch that, your cord drop and listen

Between second and third, the first is always home running

Making hits, slamming, the grands is dеmanding

Kids get mad and throw tantrums

I add on to make the good bad at hand

Controlling thе switch, handsome

Always catch these bitches dancing

See me fronting like I’m nothing then they hit me in my DMs

From AM to PM, I’m scorching, leaving wood fire

Leaving cleanse for recreation, see him thinking?

Good, didn’t think he would get off the fucking couch

And spit these words of mouth

Participating on down the line, they talking ‘bout I fronted for this shine

Throw dirt on my name, but it’s nature, it’s fine

[Verse Two]

From now ‘til then, it’s fuck making friends, let’s see whose their ‘til the end

Problems tailing me, but up next, up here to the pen

Blood thicker than ink, so don’t think you could off me

A safety that’s costly

A Ford can’t match my drive

Can’t match my live, I’m here ‘til we extinct

A style to distinct circle ‘em in the rink

Niggas skating on thin ice, then slice from the blade, blinks

He’ll fumble his head, bink it

Bounce, he fly off like rice to the dead

Link ‘em straight to the gates

Thinking I’m Kobe, give him a pair of crazy eights

And anybody catch a sixteen, I’m talking those from ‘88

So now, I’m like, I’m just as nice with Mike as the Bulls

I’m a bull with the mic‘

90s, Anyway you angle it, it’s right

I’m up stealing souls, Que Krueger

The thief in the night, so don’t sleep

A black star getting his shine on, it’s so deep

[Hook]

I’m a ghost in these notes as I float

Know you feel, but can’t see me

A step up from 3D

Lingering in the 5th percentile of the nation

Known to lock cells, and here’s a demonstration

Body, mind taken

Paralyzed, I got his soul tapped

A ghost in his body, and black control that

Paralyzed, I got his soul tapped

A ghost in his body, and black control that

[Verse Three]

Walk a mile in my shoes, nigga

I like two’s, cause they remind me of them Patrick Ew’s

Said, “Que. he spit it blunt and don’t hit who he pass it to”

Step up, how I fly, I’m passing the atmos’ too

We steering and spearing fear ‘til as flat as the atlas

Ooh, gee la, Fugees me, lullabies to sleep

Consciousness runs weak, asses’ cheek meat

Sheet rock, now B cousin, now let the beat rock