Vintage Air lyrics

Some say BHM is sh*t cuz’ we faked it
But I say y’all f*cka’s retarded cuz we made it
Beat your ass with a bat, b*tch hit the pavement
Teach you for pullin’ on my block b*tch, I got no patience
Fake b*tch, pull up bruh, run up on some Haitians
Flow fatter than my ego and my ego is bipolar so
And I’m a psycho on that microphone
Throw you on the ground, then I beat you with a traffic-cone
Yung Brodog runnin’ the show, go f*ck your ugly hoe
Can’t touch a motha f*cka’ when they sittin’ in their zone
Fantano ain’t got sh*t on this BHM rap clique
sh*t music don’t exist, if it did then I’d create it
Distort my f*ckin’ vocals like my name was Adalwolf
I don’t give a f*ck, kill the flow like an overdose
My lyrics give you cancer, I was diagnosed
f*ck I don’t remember sh*t, all I know is my nose is full of coke
And if a b*tch snitch, then I cut throat
Y’all motha f*ckas’ trippin like when I jump rope
Yo man I don’t know, I don’t think I got any hope
Might as well write this note before I hang from a rope
Write this down, here’s a f*ckin’ quote
Yung Brodog is a faggot and Gucci Mane is the greatest, yo
‘Dro smoked and I’m doped up
What the f*ck man, I choked up
I guess I don’t got enough enough in me to follow up
Kick it back to the Brodog flow
Gucci bro, steal a b*tches purse with an arrow yo
I’m swimmin’ in the pus*y, bro
Have you seen my nose? Gets me stupid hoes
But you know what? I’m a f*ckin’ joke
f*ck this track, I’m done
Where’s the f*ckin’ hash at?
Blah!