Street Clothes lyrics

[Intro]
And if you ain't down, you better not hang around
Let's, let's party at the gym this time
The song ain't even came out yet, but f*ck it, we gon' remix it right now, know what I mean?
I just have to tell these motherf*ckers, man, they can't f*ck with me with this rap sh*t
I was just sayin' that the other day
I'ma show you why n*ggas can't f*ck with me in this rap sh*t, know what I'm sayin'?
Know what I mean?
Real sh*t, know what I mean?

[Verse 1]
Let's knock another joint out
Fly sh*t I point out proper
Swiss vanilla bean ice cream in your mouth
I'm pimping her
System f*cker censor her
Expensive f*ck solicitor
Lash of L shrimp
Tempera I'm just a welder
Wise word spoke
Reflects the knowledge of my elders
Yellow gold feral on a figaro
Conscious caking
Metal on me though it's forbidden
I still might hit you with
Asalaamu Alaikum
Feel these ninja stars reaching you
Next time I won't miss trying this
Catch you leaking that all star
We can keep a fifth
Like a bottle of lick
n*ggas get followed and hit
My goons get it fast
Quicker than the first lick
Turf sh*t
Coward I earth sh*t
n*ggas get they skirt lifted
Rat packing pussies in they church fits
Hustle till I'm dirt rich
Basehead buckets and rentals
You're now looking at a mogul that's under construction
[Chorus]
In my street clothes
Or a three piece suit
Don't matter your b*tches still let me beat those
Keep keep on frontin and stuntin
While I just keep hustlin and hustlin
In my street clothes
Or a three piece suit
Don't matter your b*tches still let me beat those
Keep keep on frontin and stuntin
Well, I just keep hustling and hustling

[Verse 2]
I'm a dinosaur, vinyl connoisseur
This is big league, b*tch, not the final four
Fill it in your spinal cord, time to record
I'm like a iron board, stylish stacks
Rolling racks and more Gouda
Clouds of Buddha, welcome to the future
The twenty-first century human computer
My advice is quit trying to fly the hoes
Out here looking like apple pie a la mode
I could rock South Africa like a Cali show
So cold I could make the Central Valley snow
Two thousand and something, I'm still 'bout it though
My promo poster, me holding the Calico
The fiend still asking how much I got it for
Okay here's another line for your powdered nose
Show some loyalty to the royalty
I'm a whole cartel you just a quarter key
[Chorus]
In my street clothes or a three piece suit
Don't matter your b*tches still let me beat those
Keep keep on frontin' and stuntin'
Well, I just keep hustlin' and hustlin'
In my street clothes or a three-piece suit
Don't matter, your b*tches still let me beat those
Keep, keep on frontin' and stuntin'
Well, I just keep hustlin' and hustlin'

[Outro]
You know what I mean?
That's that one-take sh*t right there
That's how they used to do it back in the days, man
There wasn't no punch-ins and sh*t like that
That's real rap, n*gga
You know what I mean?
And I ain't no old n*gga either, you feel me?
This is real rap
Authentic sh*t
Shoutout to Madlib