[INTRO — SPOKEN, LOW] Ayo… Nah, turn that up. (uh-huh) You know what? I don’t need nobody to tell me how to move. I got my own rhythm. Let’s work. [BEAT DROP] AYYY! [VERSE 1] Look— I step to the beat like I built this floor, One little pause, then I hit that roar. Mind on sharp, every word got weight, I don’t chase no wave, I create my lane. Too seasoned, baby, you can’t season me, Every bar got flavor, that’s the recipe. I talk real slick but the message stay clear, Been doing this long enough to know what I hear. (You hear me?) Don’t need a crown just to know I’m nice, Don’t need ten people saying, “That’s tight.” I put my own stamp when I touch that mic, One take, one beat, and I’m gone on sight. DJ, cut that— (SKRRRT!) Bring it back! I like drums with the dirt still stuck in ‘em, Bass so thick make the floor start rumblin’. Little old-school flavor with a brand-new swing, When I catch that pocket, watch what I bring. (Ayy!) [HOOK] I move to the sound of my own heartbeat, Never needed nobody putting shoes on my feet. Give me one beat, watch me turn it to gold, New York in my voice, but the story my own. I move how I move, I don’t follow the crowd, Calm in my face but my music talk loud. One beat, one mic, let the whole thing run, Touch that track once— BOOM—I’m done! (Ha!) [VERSE 2] I like my records with a little bit of grit, Dust on the drums and a crackle in the mix. Give me that break where the snare hit crooked, Then watch this grown woman get real wicked. (Okay!) Words in my pocket like keys on a ring, Pull one out, make the whole room swing. I don’t need a gimmick, don’t need a disguise, You can hear where I’m from when I open my eyes. (Brooklyn!) I’m sharp with the tongue, but I’m sweet with the laugh, Little side-eye when I’m walking right past. I can joke, I can jab, I can switch that flow, Then slow it right down just to let you know— I meant that. (Talk heavy!) [DJ BREAK] Scratch it! Wicka-wicka— Hold up… Drop that bass. [VERSE 3 — FASTER FLOW] I got rhythm in the pen, got timing in the wrist, Every little syllable land where it hit. No copy, no clone, no borrowed identity, Everything you hear came straight from me. I been through enough to put steel in my tone, Still laugh real loud when I’m back at home. Got wisdom in the pocket, got fire in the chest, And when I touch that beat, I give it my best. No need for permission, no need for applause, I know what I bring and I know what it costs. If the beat got soul, then I’m ready to run, Give me that microphone— WATCH WHAT I BECOME. (AYYY!) [HOOK] I move to the sound of my own heartbeat, Never needed nobody putting shoes on my feet. Give me one beat, watch me turn it to gold, New York in my voice, but the story my own. I move how I move, I don’t follow the crowd, Calm in my face but my music talk loud. One beat, one mic, let the whole thing run, Touch that track once— BOOM—I’m done! [OUTRO — SPOKEN / FREESTYLE] Yeah… That’s that. Don’t make it too clean. I like a little dirt on the record. (little giggle) New York flavor. My words. My rhythm. My lane. DJ… Run that back.
