Disclaimer - Retch

This is a disclaimer

This is not to hurt anybody’s feelings

This ain’t no Macklemore, this packs that’s raw

No Iggy Azalea neither, this niggas selling bags of ether

Not that One Direction shit that your mom bump

These pussy niggas holding rope and getting lined up

This not Ariana Grande, bitches sipping lattes

This that trunk full of bricks nervous on the highway

This ain’t Miley Cyrus dog, this is niggas wilding

This ain’t no Bruno Mars, this niggas popping bars

This ain’t no J. Holiday or Jeremih

This that taking over buildings selling dubs that’s fire

This ain’t no Wale, this ain’t no Makonnen

This junkies dying in the stairwell cause the dope is potent

That’s my nigga, but this ain’t no fucking Mac Miller

This that niggas calling back cuz the pack killer

This ain’t for the radio, this ain’t for Grammys

This that selling smack and tucking bread with your granny

This ain’t no Justin Bieber, but that nigga nice

This your friends catching bodies, now they doing life

Just tryna bubble off the sniff, this ain’t no Taylor Swift

This is niggas holding butter, ain’t no Jonas Brothers

This ain’t Pitbull and this ain’t Flo Rida

This that even if ya bitch told you go find her

This ain’t B.o.B, this selling TNT

And tossing packs right out the whip before the peeps can see

This ain’t John Legend, shout out John Legend

It’s your block doing numbers cause the dimes seven

Yo, I can tell you what it is but I just tell you what it ain’t

I was nineteen in the park shooting dice and smoking dank

Getting twisted with my niggas, Charlie came through with the drank

And I only had a half of loud, but dog we made it work

Thinking back to all them nights, slanging X and doing dirt

When I was sliding through the X to grab a thousand pack of percs

Now I left my ex, getting five thousand for a verse

Quick to get you exed, hit your man, lie him in a hearse, nigga