War!

[Chorus: Quadeca] These shoes are from Christian Dior, yeah (Huh) I'm not a kid anymore (No, I'm not, bitch) Look at what I did to the store (What I did, yeah) They don't make this anymore, huh (They do not!) They don't make shit like this anymore (They do not!) If you gon' try to diss, best be sure, huh (Best be sure, huh) Cleaning up rappers, this shit a chore, huh (Sweep, sweep) Yeah, If you want war, then it's war, bitch (Then it's war, uh) [Verse 1: Quadeca] You ain't a part of this Using my artifice, I put my heart in this Look where I started, I ain't need a starter kit (No) I've been a starter since in (No) kindergarten And who are you harder than? You are not harder than me (Huh?) I changed my numbers, I'm harder to reach (Who?) I turn my pages, I'm harder to read Say you know me, but I find that hard to believe (Yeah) Oh Sorry, I'm not nice (Sorry) They like, "Oh He just came through in some Nikes, but these shits is Off-Whites" (Heh, yeah) They all be buggin' when I go up off of the top Like I got lice, huh I turn this shit Freaky Friday I'll make you think you on the wrong life, huh (You in the wrong, wrong life) You in the wrong life, bitch Media painted the wrong light, huh Hard to hide up in the spotlight She do anything for me, I'm a Klondike, bitch I live two lives when I'm online, offline, everything on the line Fuck all the clout, this is not 'bout a dollar sign Bottom line, that's just the bottom line Pulled up, you stood, sayin' nothing, just like you forgot your lines, aye (Yeah! Bitch!) [Chorus: Quadeca] These shoes are from Christian Dior yeah (Huh) I'm not a kid anymore huh (No, I'm not, bitch) Look at what I did to the store (What I did) They don't make this anymore huh (They do not!) They don't make shit like this anymore (They do not!) If you gon' try to diss, best be sure, huh (Best be sure, huh) Cleaning up rappers, this shit a chore (Sweep, sweep) If you want war then it's war, bitch (Then it's war, huh) [Verse 2: Dax & Quadeca] (Dax!) Niggas want beef, put it in a caption Niggas want tweet, never 'bout rapping I was in the trap when they ask me what happened I gripped on a tech, sorry man, now I'm blasting (Ha, ha, ha, ha!) What I said when he panic Blood on my shirt, yeah, new fashion Just bought a whip and I ran to the mansion And flex on a bitch, and I pop with this handgun One shot, and you dead HB, two pencil ass nigga 'Cause I always got lead (I got what?) Two free throws, two shots One chest, one to your head ([?]) 9-1-1, speed dial Man down, that's what I said ([?], what's your emergency?) Who you know, was a janitor Went and got rich, copped a whip that you peel off the lot? Who you know be a thug Who would murder a nigga, then talk and go move, like Barack? Who you know got a jumper like Curry And dunk on a nigga, like Shaq on the block? Who you know, got a-- You don't know nobody (Haha, yeah!) [Chorus: Quadeca] These shoes are from Christian Dior, yeah (Huh) I'm not a kid anymore (No, I'm not, bitch) Look at what I did to the store (What I did) They don't make this anymore, uh (They do not!) They don't make shit like this anymore (They do not!) If you gon' try to diss, best be sure, uh (Best be sure, uh) Cleaning up rappers, this shit a chore (Sweep, sweep) If you want war then it's war bitch (Then it's war) [Outro: Quadeca] (Pshew!)