I Smashed A Cymbal Over My Head (And Now It Looks Like A Big Spoon)

(What more can I say?)
Now you know ass is Willie
When they got you in a mag
For like half a billi'
And your ass ain't Lilly
White
That mean that shit you write must be illy
Either that or your flow is silly
It's both
I don't mean to boast
But damn if I don't brag
Them crackers gonna act like I ain't on they ads

The Martha Stewart
That's far from Jewish
Far from a Harvard student
Just had the balls to do it
And no I'm not through with it
In fact I'm just previewing it
This ain't the show I'm just EQ'n it
One-two and I won't stop abusing it
To groupie girls stop false accusing it
Back to the music
The mayback roof is translucent
Ta, Niggas got a problem Houston
Ta ta
Ta, Niggas got a problem Houston

For this long, this hood
Or this pop is hot
Or this strong
With so many different flows
This ones for this song
The next one I'll switch up
This one will get bit up
These fucks
To lazy to make up shit
They crazy
They don't...paint pictures
They just trace me
You know what
Soon they forget who they plucked
They whole style from
And try to reverse the outcome
I'm like...Ta
I'm not a biter
I'm a writer
For myself and others
I say a big verse I'm only biggin' up my brother
Biggin' up my Beryl
I'm big enough to do it
I'm that thorough
Plus I know my own flow is foolish
So the rings and things you sing about
Bring em out
It's hard to yell when the barrel's in your mouth
I'm in...new sneakers, deuce seaters
A few divas

What more can I say?
What more can I do?
I give this up to you
I know this much is true

Moving wet off the step
Purple Rain in the drought
Stuntin' on hoes
Brushing off my shirt
But ain't nothing on my clothes
'Cept my chain
My name
Young H-O
Pitch the yeah faithful
Even if they patrol I make payroll
Benz paid for
Friends they roll
Private jets down to Turks and Caicos
Chrys' case loads
I don't give a shit
Nigga one life to live I can't let a day go by
Without me being fly
Fresh to death
Head to toe until the day I rest
And I don't wear jerseys I'm thirty plus
Give me a crisp pair of jeans nigga button ups
S dots on my feet
Makes my cycle complete
What more can I say Pickaninny
I will literally
Kiss Tee-Tee in the forehead
Tell her please forgive me
Then squeeze until your forehead
I'm not the one to score points off
In fact
I got a joint to knock your points off

What more can I say?
Do? Do?
I know this much is true
True, true, true, true
True, true, true, true

I'm not the one to score points off
In fact
I got a joint to knock your points off
Young
Hoover the God nigga blast for me
I'm at the "Chump International"
Ask for me
I ain't never scared
I'm everywhere
You ain't never there
Nigga why would I ever care?
Pound for pound I'm the best to ever come around here
Excluding nobody
Look what I embody
The soul of a hustler i really ran the street
A CEO's mind: that marketing plan was me
And no I ain't get shot up a whole bunch of times
Or make up shit in a whole bunch of lines
The Martha Stewart
That's far from Jewish
Far from a Harvard student
Just had the balls to do it
And no I'm not through with it
In fact I'm just previewing it
This ain't the show I'm just EQ'n it
One-two and I won't stop abusing it
To groupie girls stop false accusing it
Back to the music
The mayback roof is translucent
Niggas got a problem Houston, ta-ta
Niggas got a problem Houston, ta-ta-ta
Niggas got a problem Houston, ta-ta ta-ta
Niggas got a problem Houston, ta-ta-ta

What more can I say?
What more can I do?
I give this up to you
You-you-you (ta-ta-ta)
True!

Times that by my influence
On pop culture
I supposed to be number one on everybody's list
We'll see what happens when I no longer exist
Fuck this

What more can I say? (fuck this)
What more can I say? (fuck-fuck-fuck this)