Lyric - WYM? Lyrics

What they want from me?
What they want from me?
What they want from me?
What they want from me?
Yeah, yeah
Mmm, mm, mm
Uhh
Boomers want boom bap feel trapped by trap
Always run they trap, anything just to yap
They ain't hand it to us, just bite the hands grouping us
Into one nice stereotype to devise they rumors
They humor me, we all human no in-betweens
But they ain't age like wine they brains just melting
They humors out of sync, on all fours
Pleading to the talent agencies
Not to let these rappers sing anymore, please
The pleasure's mine, my kind killed hip-hop
Rhymes about the drip-drop with no topics left
Feathers of the bird together for no old heads we stop
And if they think it's wack then maybe they the most deaf
Check the treble clef high note living
Bubble self-loving rebel ref and
Reveling in leveling norms
Resisting conformity for myself
And more to make money to keep warm
And nothing else, uh
What you really want from me?
What you really want from me?
What you want from me?
I got everything you need, right?
What you really want from me?
I see you
What you need?
What?
I only need one thing
Big boy big pockets big change
Blow up big fame then big chain
Ay, ay, ay big body
Big weight, no wait
For what I want
I get it instant when I say, huh
Ultra, ultimate, big name
Ain't gotta say it 'cause
You know it anyways and
If not, then you prolly off the Ambien
My ambience is manic
Man, I do it my way
Mayday mayday mayday
Things going down
Serve it to 'em, clean house, bus it up
Go to town
When I get up each day
My drip liquid, fit's solid
Gotta gas me up
My wave ain't a phase
So what now?
My power my range insane at my command
Flashing lights but I stay the bigger man
Anti-xan, in a trance, contraband for wonderland
Fresh green print mint, blueprint, still the plan
Agh
What you really want from me?
What you really want from me?
What you want from me?
I got everything you need, right?
What you really want from me?
I see you
What you need?
What?
I only need one thing
I figure-8 skate around these figures
To make me 8 figures
Snakes and hate slithers
Then they wither away
As fate considers I'm the real go-getter
Not too late
I figure, because the sensation's bitter
When I think too much
I ain't invigorate a winner
Still ain't a quitter, just been benched
A dormant hitter, doormat to
The whole committee, many chase dreams but sleep on visions
And I'll admit it, I've tried remitting
But I've been sitting with the ideation
And it's scooting closer knowing
I'm a fidgeting fake masquerading, more counterfeit than anything
They think
So Internet gangsters still find ways to hate on me
And that's okay
Still me, consistently making things
Little ripples that'll soon be making waves
Hit a few roadblocks but soon I'll pave the way
Spit my two cents, and go from loose change to Bill Gates
Ay
What you really want from me?
What you really want from me?
What you want from me?
I got everything you need, right?
What you really want from me?
I see you
What you need?
What?
I only need one thing
Ah, darling