JÔCKÎN. - Tobe Nwigwe

Keh-keh, keh, keh, yuh

#GetTwistedSundays, we ain’t gonna waste no time

Look

A lotta folk Jockin', this beat rockin'

Southwest raised, G Mob still poppin'

The blades still choppin', the babes still boppin'

The rap game look like the new slave auction

Can I get a what?

Can I get a who?

I flow for the trigger-happy rapping jiggaboos

And those that be itchin' to clap at the biggest coupe

Who pack an SMG but don’t work at the ticket booth

Look, no movie, real raps in my iTunes, no Uzi

Low-key, Fat fine, but she pose goofy

High-key, flow raw, but it’s no sushi

Boy I’m on, wipe me down, like the old Boosie (Yuh)

Shoulders, chest, pants, shoes

Shoutout Sim, he the coldest with the dance moves

Try love, try God, and you can’t lose

But try me, and I’ma show you what these hands do (Yeah)

Young Jurn hit me up, said she movin down

Used to ride metro, but I’m booming now

I only rap to keep the ratio of cooning down

Don’t sleep on me, I got no chill

Every beat I’m on, roadkill

God blessed me with cheese like Ro-tel

'Cause I ride His coattails

Most my partners still make dope sales

And they be like, «Oh, well»

Rock so much ice, it look like snow fell

And they move it wholesale

Go tell it on the mountain

It’s «Nwee-gway» to the people pronouncing

My last name acting like it’s a fountain

Of consonants when they making the announcements

I’m tired of it … Stop it

I do God’s work, I’m philanthropic

I keep my beard glistening like a prophet

And, hell, if I ain’t the plug, then I’m the socket, I swear

The whole hood got my back like a chiropractor

'Cause every bar I get it popping like a firecracker

I’m tryna go from Genesis to the final chapter

So whenever the trumpet blow, I survive the rapture

(Yuh, yuh)

You’ll catch me hang-gliding on clouds

Screaming out, «No diggity, no doubt»

Elohim next to me, looking Hennessy brown

We both jigging

Swear I’m married to the game, I elope different

Used to dream about the slab with the fours tipping

Back when Twista and Do or Die had me po' pimpin'

Every bar guava, you can see the flow dripping (Yuh)

Don’t touch my drip, let it marinate

I swear I’m good in every hood like a pair of Js

It’s the reason every track I’m on, I defecate

Pray a line, 5:30, just to meditate

(Me and Fat got it poppin' on our wedding day)

I swear I rap for every Piru and Hoover

Tryna maneuver around the barricade at the Pearly Gates

Let us in, every wretch need a rest-haven

I keep it moving, never worried about the steps taken

I give middle fingers to Satan, wrestling with God

Demanding every ounce of favor He used to bless Jacob

I’m gone

Keh-keh, keh, keh, yuh

Keh-keh, keh, keh, yuh