Self
Noname
Maybe this the album you listen to in your car,
when you driving home late at night
really questioning every god, religion, Kanye, bitches.
Maybe this is the entrance before you get to the river.
I had him before the heathen. No reason for you to like me.
Maybe this your wifey just wanting a clean divorce.
The baby ain't really yours.
That's really for babies teething
and chicken wings under-seasoned.
Y'all really thought a bitch couldn't rap, huh?
Maybe this your answer for that.
A crack era, the Reagan administration?
And niggas are still scared of-
Nah, actually this is for me.
This one for TT at the lakes offering the mac and the cheese.
This one a small apology for all the calls that I screened.
Mr. money man, Mr. every day he got me,
Mr. wifing me down, Mr. me love, Mr. Miyagi,
Miscellaneous, Mr. molly inside my saki.
Incredible, incredible emptiness in my body.
Heaven's only four-feet tall -
I set my ringer to it.
Fucked your rapper homie, now his ass is making better music.
My pussy teaching ninth-grade English.
My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism
in conversation with a marginal system in love with Jesus.
And y'all still thought a bitch couldn't rap huh?
Maybe this your answer for that.
Good pussy, I know niggas only talk about money and good pussy.