[Intro: J-Cook]
Illest track on the album, I swear to God
I'm killing it
[Verse 1: J-Cook]
Flow ice cold and my verses so warm
I got that 603 swag
And that Mississippi charm
I spit fire on the track
You spit shit so outta form
Stockard Hall we in this bitch
Rep my motherfucking dorm
Oh god my style innovative, bring the game a new twist
Who woulda ever thought a white boy find himself atop the list?
Of the G.O.A.T's from Compton, Harlem, Cali, Nawleans, St. Louis
When they said New England hip hop wouldn't sound nothing like this
I'm the illest; Flick my wrist
All you hear is snap and swish
Or cross them over through the legs
And then finish with the dish
I'm J-Cook
I'm the P-L-A-Y-M-A-K-E-R
That spell playmaker
Boy, who the fuck you think you are?
Doing 90? In a 60? In a fucking foreign car?
When you haven't even blessed us with some fucking foreign bars?
Now I have, the fuck you say?
All my haters they so gay
They just mad cause they can't slay
Like the J_C_60trey
Gottem'
Try again next time
Please just tell us one more time
How J-Cook can't fucking rhyme, boy!
[Hook]
Motherfucker I'm skilled, yeah
[Verse 2: J-Cook]
I'm killin' em' here, I'm killin' em' there
Dirty south, the Rebel Black Bear, mang
LSU cannot hang
I'm backing up my whole gang
I make this shit look too easy
What would it take for Weezy to look at the 6-0-threezy
J-C good, J-C sick
Like a sunnyside runny
All your eggs in one basket
I got 20,000 honnies
Slow it down
Light a tree, pop a jumper, hit a three
We go in like Easy-E
Yeah the 603 indeed
Hotty Toddy, gosh almighty J-Cook spit so fucking gnarly
I'm in Nawleans
Here for Mardi
Even Davis couldn't guard me
Going straight for that pussy, call that girl New Orleans shawty
Your Tulane bitch nasty af, call that girl New Orleans gaudy, AH
[Hook]
Motherfucker I'm trill, yeah
[Verse 3: J-Cook]
They say I got that intellect
Mic check, respect, good rhymes, good vibes, good times
Derived from kikes, you likes?
Alexander call me J-C the great
This mixtape overdue dog, sorry I'm late
Sorry 4 Tha Wait
Took awhile to concoct it
Had the chance last summer, fucked around, and then I lost it
So B-T came in to adopt it
And this OG Kush got me higher than a cockpit
And the bass high
Till he drop it
And my pant waist high
Till she drop it
Listen closely to my verbals and you'll understand the concept
All these hoes who sleeping on me, I tell you to sleep less
Hip-hop school in session, and I'm playing like it's recess
Yes, yes
This is the mixtape that will leave you fucking speechless
All you other rappers, speak less
All my listeners just be blessed
I'm killin' it
[Verse 4: ConnArtist]
Shoutout my man Jules
Okay I'm gonna rap now
Look
Worry bout nada
Hakunna Matadah
I gotta walk, lotta
Gotta get on your bada
Ba-ba-ba-ba
I'm killing em' like, Osama
When I was filling em' up with banana
I got a lot on the side, I'm
Sodomy on the stage
Sodomy when I rage
I got a couple things to say, and I wage that
This toaster, here, could make it go clear
That I would win the battle now, I will be president near, and now you
Check me out
I check about the sex a lot
There was a couple things that's not allowed
When you was sitting on the stage
I saw Mr. Smith, and he had a lot of rage, and
I got a couple texts
I got a couple calls
I made a couple bad moves
Got a couple balls
But yeah, we dunking, we hunking
Yeah we stay at Dunkin's
I'm staying back on my energy, now I'm jumping
Now I'm typing
With this fire I'm igniting
Now I don't give fucks, bout' this shit that I'm writing
All that shit that I was saying was vicing
But them good times, they way too enticing
[Outro: ConnArtist]
And Mike Tyson from his pre-era, pro-era, never stare-ah
Beast coast, I get a terra
Dactyl, cause I act full
And I ain't got no more food on my plate, cause you that full
