AIMBOT

Everything's in its place, bring on whatever comes
Now I wake up with a weed head stepping on a Persian rug
I take off the chains to record this shit
I leave them all together just to see them
I’m passing time smoking tropical acai, counting how much cash I got
I feel this imperial suite like a Faraday cage
I’d sing along with you, but instead of working you just talk
You’ve got so many faces like Dana White
I shook the can like a protein shake
If I take life seriously, I step aside
Headshot, I was a good kid like K. Dot
Now I spot fakes like I’ve got an aimbot
You can’t flex even with gold in your molars
I still carry my joints under my fleece
Some pig wants to confirm it
But on the street, I’m a fox, I run to avoid flying
It was the father, the son, and the holy spirit
Dropping ten kilos in the white Berlingo
Feeding us like pigeons on a bench
If the pressure comes, I can handle it
I can’t make it drop
I’m smoking with Chase on the runway
Tightrope walkers between winds and turns
I didn’t make it in that magazine, didn’t read the message
And since I don’t give interviews, they make reports
Looking back is a tribute
I still haven’t tried on a suit
But everyone wants a piece of what I brought
They’re looking at my future, but no one can jinx it
I don’t care what card comes out or how many times I shuffle
I’m just chillin'

Yeah, TRES CREUS
BBO, Valencia (BBO, Valencia)