Lyrics

[Verse 1]
I’m flyer than a jet with no runway,
Flow so sick, make the beat need a x-ray.
I’m a Martian — Earth ain’t my habitat,
Snap like a Kit-Kat, breakin’ every track.

Money on my mind like a fitted cap logo,
Shoot game raw like a photo in slo-mo.
I don’t chase clout, I just chase commas,
Presidential suite — yeah, I’m sleepin’ with Obamas.

I’m the bomb, no wires, no code,
She ride me like Uber, then tip me in gold.
I spit fire, like my tongue in a grill,
Bars got kicks like they signed a Nike deal.

I don’t play fair, I just play God-mode,
Stackin’ verses like blocks in a cheat code.
I’m the GOAT, that’s G.O.A.T. — get on all thrones,
Every bar flex like it bench-press bones.

⸻

[Hook – Wayne style sing-rap swagger]
No ceilings, no brakes, I go nonstop,
I’m the answer, the key, and the whole lock.
Young Money in my veins, I don’t fold, I pop,
And the pen like a pistol — I don’t miss my shot.

⸻

[Verse 2]
I got bars like a lifer with a life plan,
Every punchline land like a flight plan.
Your girl said I’m cold — I said “baby, I’m below that,”
And I don’t call back, I just ghost like a throwback.

Big drip, no leak, that’s pressure,
Flow so cold, got ice on the lecture.
I’m the storm in the drought, the flame in the flood,
Put the beat in a box and I bury it in mud.

I’m a beast, no leash, no muzzle,
I turn pain into gold, that’s hustle.
So ahead of my time I got jet lag,
And I still drop fire in a sweat rag.

⸻

[Outro – Wayne voice, cool fade]
Yeah…
Young Money forever…
I don’t write rhymes, I write scriptures…
No pen, no pad… just pain in the mixture.