Self lyrics

[Verse 1]
Maybe this the album you listen to in your car
When you driving home late at night
Really questioning every god, religion, Kanye, b*tches
Maybe this is the entrance before you get to the river
A heaven before the heathen no reason for you to like me
Maybe this your wifey just wanting a clean divorce
The baby ain't really yours, this really for babies teething
And chicken wings under-seasoned
Y'all really thought a b*tch couldn't rap, huh?
Maybe this your answer for that, a crack era
The Reagan administration that n*ggas are still scared of
Nah actually this is for me
This one for TT at the lake serving the mac and the cheese
This one a small apology for all the calls that I screened

[Verse 2]
Mr. Money Man, Mr. Every Day He Got Me
Mr. Wifing Me Down, Mr. Me-Love, Mr. Miyagi
Miscellaneous, Mr. Molly Inside My Sake
Incredible, incredible emptiness in my body
Heaven's only four-feet tall, I set my ringer to it
f*cked your rapper homie, now his ass is making better music
My pus*y teachin ninth-grade English
My pus*y wrote a thesis on colonialism
In conversation with a marginal system in love with Jesus
And y'all still thought a b*tch couldn't rap huh?
Maybe this your answer for that; good pus*y
I know n*ggas only talk about money and good pus*y