In the Bag - E-dubble

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

I make something out of nothing.

Call me Jesus

A tall proud heretic, damn behemoth

And I stand in these jeans with creases

Don’t blame me;

blame the god-damn Levi’s genius

These 501's are the uniform

Keep me mythically invisible — a unicorn

Nope you can’t see me chilling on the deans list

With the A.P. classes.

Y’all still C. P

To college preps I’m a graduate

Put my diploma on a t-shirt to laugh a bit

Bachelors in rap tactics: I mastered it

Put on my seat belt, and I fastened it

Cause I ride that beat like a fucking big wheel

Big deal.

I throw back like a spree wheel

Spinning all around like a fucking wind mill

I’m conscious of the sickness;

I know I’ve been ill

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

I’m no backpacker.

More like a carpet bagger

Peel off new constituents.

Peep my swagger

And I’m not talking Old Spice.

This is my right

To passage.

Wreck mics till they call me average

Meal ticket gets ripped: an orphaned bastard

But I promise that day will never come to pass

I can run too fast, and my pace is awkward

You’re a great white, homie?

We’re a pack of dolphins

Stay tight knit like an emo sweater

Don’t need no beef.

E' knows better

Don’t need your hype.

Just need the mic

Beefing with you is like riding on a seatless bike

It’s useless.

My true fans boost my music

So when you see me out just chuck the duces

When you drink a jazzer, go dumb, you doofus

Till the line gets blurred and your dreams are lucid

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

Yeah, I got diamonds on the soles of my shoes — shoes

Okay they’re rhinestones, but they look cool

I am more fresh than Paul Simon

I am so bent, yet I’m rhyming

Freestyling to any beat that comes on

Daft Punk, James Brown: I don’t give a fuck

White Boss, speak proper, spit so fly

Been waiting to talk shit since Ready To Die

Since Ready To Die, I’ve been ready to fly

Uncle Chris spits slick, so I mimic the guy

And I’m a Wallace myself, so I polish the

Chasing the dream, so it seems that I follow the wealth

Yeah I diminish my health, but the vices keep me writing

Drunk verses shock me, so I call my pen «Lightning»

Yuck.

Yes, the lyrics get frightening

Freddy Kruger letter head.

Never sleep lightly

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack

Ayo, it’s in the bag, look, it’s in the bag

Open up and peep what I brought back

Nothing but the dopest shit, straight filled

To the brim.

Just peep what’s in my napsack