Whiskey Sour

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The Møjavi Burn

3:22

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What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
When it rained, it poured, you couldn't tell if I shaved
The face ain't weathered, it belies my true age
It's too real to stage, I be on that instrumental
Like Luke Cage with overdue rage
Let my words lock your head in a headlock
Headshot, I'm focused like infrared red dots
It's natural like dreadlocks to rock the foundation
Like bedrock, like chili peppers I'm red hot
That's word to Anthony Kiedis
Maybe I'll trend if I put a crew sock on my penis
And troll in a manner disrespectfully egregious
Like recording myself bucking at portraits of Jesus
I'm too short with the ditzy, dizziest, oblivious of
Idiots, my style, it be the most hideous
Ironically, like Nike I just do it the prettiest
The praise, gimme it because I be the
Busiest spitting straight grittiness
What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
Get that bread is my mantra, my motto
You would know that if you followed my staccato
Niggas think I'm phased by their false sense of bravado
Thinking shit is sweeter than bottles of Moscato
But that's their business, their Bobby Brown prerogative
I'm tryna get this bread and tryna keep from getting audited
And wind up one of Uncle Sam's many, many hostages
I'm tryna understand life and think positive
I'm a writer-sonnets, haikus, and limericks
Low-life degenerates make themselves my nemesis
But I ain't tryna beef with them, that shit it never benefits
Flow pivotally-riveting like Rosie the Feminist
Icon, when it's all said and done, you'll holler
My song which I bear like a koala if I
Leave it up to you, I'd be fucked up in squalor
If it don't make no sense, it damn sure don't make no dollars, nigga
What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
What's good?
I prefer my drink on the rocks if you could
I'm rather chipper, I ain't trippin', I'm just sitting in my
Corner calm, sippin' on my whiskey sour
What's good?
Wuh-wuh, wuh-what, wuh-what's good?
I'm rather chipper, I'm trippin', I'm just sittin' in my
Corner calm, sippin'... sippin'... sippin'
If your tryna throw salt in the game, then you're a lame
And it pro'ly makes you sick to your stomach to even mention my name
Now that's a shame, who's to aim for the blame?
I'm the one with 91 octane for the flame
Like Seabiscuit on the beat, I gallup on the track
It's a delicacy like a scallop in your mouth
My style fresher like the Ceasar salad with the ranch
I possess that lyrical metallic avalanche

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