Nothing to Declare lyrics

[Intro: Moor Mother]
Yo (Blow, blow, smoke, smoke, atmosphere, here)
Yo, hey, hey, hey, yo, yo, yo
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, hey, ooh

[Verse 1: Moor Mother]
Let me tell you somethin' in your ear
All the hatersexuals wanna be queer
Shoot you if you’re burnin' my ears
(What you even f*ckin' doin’ here?)
What you even doing over here?
What you even doing over here?
Don't believe in time, but this is my year (Me, me, mе, me, me, me)
Blow a littlе smoke in the atmosphere

[Chorus: Moor Mother]
Set it like premiere, bring the record back
Set it like the center for the quarterback
So much ass, had to bring it back
Seven hundred b*tches give you cardiac

[Verse 2: Moor Mother]
Spit this sh*t better than Shakespeare (Who the f*** is that?)
You just try to black, well, you can't get here
I'm blue, black, lost in the atmosphere
Call me Shamir Lightyear (That's me)
b*tch, I'm here, well premiere (Ta-da)
(Ta-da, ta-da!)
Tired of the smoke up here
All up in your biosphere (Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo, cheese)
(All up in your space, b*tch)
I don't believe in time, but it's our year
Blow a little smoke in the atmosphere
[Chorus: Moor Mother]
Set it like premiere, bring the record back
Set it like the center for the quarterback
So much ass, had to bring it back
Seven hundred b*tches give you cardiac

[Verse 3: DJ Haram]
Hey (Yo, yo, what you got on my cheesesteak, motherf*cker?)
Otherworldly, it look fake (Like)
Sinbad fightin’ snakes, they’re still new to the heartache (Boo-hoo)
Big fish in the icy lake
I just thought I'd call you
Cry until the lie’s true, you always 'bout your crisis
How you a narcissist but righteous?
I've never been a victim (I'm good)
f*ck your nihilist benediction
Blow a little smoke in the atmosphere
Blow a little smoke in the atmosphere

[Bridge: DJ Haram]
[?]
I’m a pisces
Smoke here
Talk nicely
That's wifey
She priceless
Choose wisely
Everybody hot sh*t
[Chorus: Moor Mother]
Set it like a center for the quarterback
Set it like premiere, bring the record back
So much ass, had to bring it back
Seven hundred b*tches [?]

[Outro: Moor Mother]
Rolling up, nothing left to fear, here