博尔特

Mix: Youngchill.

Talk box: Shaker.

Those rich kids all want to be cool kids.

But this gift is granted to kids with no way out.

While you sit in a Maybach picking brands of body lotion,

I’m down in a busted basement studying rhyme, drums, and the beat.

Give me some jazz—I love jazz, blues, and funk.

(A T H R double E is here) class, hurry up.

Forget the money-worship the grown-ups taught you.

“As long as the heart is clean, water can wash away any other dirt.”

You can show love—dance along with the screen.

But stay skeptical—don’t get misled by the cameraman.

They all want to be the mountaintop; I want to be an island.

As long as you like me, I don’t care about breaking out or debuting.

The market hits hip-hop, and there’s no real MC to block it.

Then here, even flowers will rust and even salt will rot.

If rappers don’t care about the cries of people at the bottom,

Then what the hell are you “hip-hopping” for? What kind of baller are you pretending to be?

Hello, hello—yeah, I’m back.

Like Bolt—no one can beat me on a track, boy.

Hello, hello—how you like that?

Haters will say I’m not watered down—it’s a fact, boy.

Hello, hello—yeah, I’m back.

Like Bolt—no one can beat me on a track, boy.

Hello, hello—how you like that?

Haters will say I’m not watered down—it’s a fact, boy.

My lyrics are dope—even if you read them sideways.

Telegraph-style rhyme endings—no one can guess them.

Bringing big gifts—Santa Claus is here, uh.

Bursting out of the Tarim—uygga with attitude.

Rappers have a disease: if they don’t brag, they’ll die.

A bunch of them talk nonsense—I turn them into yogurt shaved ice.

Is rap supposed to rap about Rolexes, or about principles?

If you’re balling, jump a little higher—otherwise I can’t see you.

My man—I’m the start of a new era.

The difference between you and me is plain water versus Pepsi.

Inspiration starts dancing when I get a blank page.

Underground backs me; aboveground drags me—this is my place.

You complain there are too many punchlines in my lyrics.

Words show up naked—never wrapped in an overcoat.

Breathing inland air, I still represent Bole.

Tell me—should rap listen to you, or to me?

Hello, hello—yeah, I’m back.

Like Bolt—no one can beat me on a track, boy.

Hello, hello—how you like that?

Haters will say I’m not watered down—it’s a fact, boy.

Hello, hello—yeah, I’m back.

Like Bolt—no one can beat me on a track, boy.

Hello, hello—how you like that?

Haters will say I’m not watered down—it’s a fact, boy.

Catch me if you can.

Lil homie, I’m the man.

You don’t wanna mess with my gang.

G.A.N.G.S.T.A.

Catch me if you can.

Lil homie, I’m the man.

You don’t wanna mess with my gang.

G.A.N.G.S.T.A.

Catch me if you can.

Lil homie, I’m the man.

You don’t wanna mess with my gang.

G.A.N.G.S.T.A.

Production company: AYO!

7