Tired of these rappers, tired of these jackers
 Tired of these dances by these backpackers
And I'm sick of all these hipsters, I'm sick of phony niggas
I'm sticking to these [bad word]  cause I'm sick of all these sisters
I'm sick and tired of tryna survive, I'm sick tired of my environment
I'm sick and tired of feeling deprived, I'm one of a kind, when in my climate
I'm sick and tired of your facade and all of your lying and all your diamonds
Basically I'm tired of feeling sick and tired
ASAP, born in money makin' Manhattan
Every [bad word] on my block wanna be a Main Attrakion
Shout my [bad word] Squadda, shout my [bad word] Mondre
If you disrespect them niggas then I'm polishin' the nadre
 And [bad word] to your casa for your madre and [bad word]  Most of these niggas been [bad word] or they strange
They say I sound like Andre mixed with Kanye, little bit of Max
 Little bit of Wiz, little bit of that, little bit of this, get off my [bad word] 
 [Hook]
I'm in your hood, you ain't got no ticket
I'ma down to Earth [bad word]  we could kick it
 Take a hit with me, take a hit with me
 Ain't on stage behind the scene, I'm probably mixing lean
 Chilling with my niggas, with my [bad word] and take a sip with me, take a sip with me

 [Verse 2: Squadda B]
 Once again mister back selling crack
It's an honor keeping real [bad word] music on the map
 Street raps, new face, sampled with no craze
Doubting myself cause I don't think the world can relate
To my surprise everyone does, so have faith
Half of the other side don't live it they push play
The young illest alive, Harlem world to the Bay
It feels good waking up to money in the bank
 Cause last year it was shoe box and lint
 I only write raps just to give you niggas hits
Every verse a gift, as you smoke like a chimney
My [bad word] November, that's 20 years of memory
And that's assuming I'mma live that long
If I don't, don't cry cause I ain't live that wrong
 Just an artist in a purest form, I live that song
 An artist in the purest form, I live that song, Bambino