You're Just Mad

[Verse 1] I think that you're just mad Cause I spit my rhymes and I squeeze my limes More than there are writers for the New York Times And while you're out there just scrounging for dimes I'm just right out there accumulating fines Cause I ain't paying for shit and I'm doing all my crimes But sometimes, things just get terrible And it feels unbearable And I know I will never understand it all So then I get some drugs and I don't mean Tylenol Which makes me get stoned off of my balls And then I say shit like, "L-O-L is a word, it's lol" So if you think I'm playing with you like a doll Then get some beer in a glass real tall Really quick now, be sure to drink it all Cause it'll make your imagination hit a wall Hope that'll make you realize that I make the calls [Hook] Yeah, so I think you're just mad cause I'm a straight-up G And you ain't ever gonna catch up with me Since I'm better than Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee And you losing at this is just complimentary And you might all think you're better than me, better than me But I think we gon' see when I got an album out for free But I still make money, yeah man, that's how I'm gonna be [Verse 2] Now man, I be eating this pussy for breakfast And no, I don't really think that I'm too reckless And if you wanna speak to me, you gotta get outta my face first Cause your words will start to slur and just make no sense But none of that even makes a difference So I take you out for a ride in a car I got for rents My joint is steaming up the windows so I open the air vents Go swerving off the road and crash my ass into a fence You ain't too lucky, though, you ended up dead, so gents Y'all just might wanna think before you gimme your two cents Cause I'm gonna be popular in more than eight continents Oh shit, need to return this car with a couple of dents... [Hook] [Verse 3] And also, I think you just mad cause erry day I'm rolling two way on a one way Flying backwards on a runway Weaving in and out of traffic on an expressway Never paying for rides on the motherfucking subway Then the feds catch up with me and tell me court's on Sunday So I grab another fake ID the very next day Then go out and fake my death so I don't gotta pay Come on, man, what the hell is there that they can say At my funeral them bitches all let my album play But they all don't know that I'll be back in May Cooking up more lyrics, just call me Bobby Flay So all you assholes who think that soon, I'mma leave the game I think y'all motherfuckers should know that I'm here to stay So if me telling you this makes you mad Then that's just too bad Cause you're just mad