Borsalino - MZ Boom Bap, Ryler Smith

Its high, predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

This mind is richer than pride

If I die

Know I was young soldier

Its high predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

It shines when midnight is time

If I die then the second eye

Of moon shall watch over me

Bust it

Crush it, cuss it dust it

Yo style is rubbish

Brother, you gon' need to watch

What this child gon publish

Ruggish, hunnid instrumentals Im budging

Trusting nobody on sublets

Who faking jaxx on a budget

I stalk the public

On my stubbornness ish

Who got the rock

Who staying humble, in this shit

Most niggas go with the flick

Slitting they wrist when they flip

Fake niggas holla

On zones, no shit

On flip phones, they trynna get into ya home

I dug my bone deep beneath

Of the feet you harbor

Searching for my soul

I’ms till breathing right thru this armor

My father I keep on going harder

A king who farmer

Not an informer but former

Performer who not from california

Swiss blooded

Inhaling right off a doobie

Yet I get the looks

Cause the African blood run thru me

My heart pump a flu me numb

Heating up like aluminum

Who crew you run?

Confidants mixing booze

With a shooter gun

Its high, predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

This mind is richer than pride

If I die

Know I was young soldier

Its high predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

It shines when midnight is time

If I die then the second eye

Of moon shall watch over me

I rock the treble and bass

Yo check the middle function

Gusting the dust off

With filthy face on the funk when

We stomping

When the spell hits

I’m speaking fists

My style flips, forever farewell

When setting dibs

It getting mixed in the circle

We form a whole new triangle

My confidants and I know to handle

We making moves, ready

Up in casinos

Wearing fancy yellow chinos

Rock a fly fedora by Borsalino

Drinking a cappuccino

My style be lethal

Most niggas try to repeat

But what comes around

Goes around

So keep ya old recepits

The spitter of hordes of flames

Watch me burn em in flames

If living in hideous

And in irreversible choices I’d go insane

They getting slain

When fucking it up on aim

You get it right or get it wrong

My nigga that is the game

So gimme the mic

And lemme give you the sword

Sticking it into your cords

Crushing heaviest of matter

With metaphors

Of course

It’s time

Its high, predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

This mind is richer than pride

If I die

Know I was young soldier

Its high predicamental

Feeling strong when the sky getting torn up

It shines when midnight is time

If I die then the second eye

Of moon shall watch over me