Letter to Cornelius Songtext
von BabyTron

(D-d-damn, Machu, why′d you have to do 'em like that?)

I-75 the only time I work a night shift
Pack of jammers on the freeway, I′m finna swipe shit
Real source, catch me plugged in by your light switch
Rollie on my left, bust Patek on my right wrist
I'm the type to go and get it, you will watch the time tick
Told my players in the field, "When they yell that hike, blitz"
Signed a record deal, shit, you should've read the fine print
Now you on the shelf, finna spend your whole life pissed

Shit, the game is the game, yeah, it′s pros and cons
A band on your head′ll get you banged on like old LeBron
A hundred-dollar appetizer, we at Ocean Prime
Everybody sick the time came, but they know it's mines
Hope you got your blickiana ′cause I'm toting mines
Double cup, drop a V-cut, I′m too blowed to drive
Ocean drive flying, drop the top, finna float the ride
Take my pop and do some voodoo, pour a four inside


I was on the road, you was busy doing work in school
Shit, yeah, you heard of me, but I ain't heard of you
Life in this fucker, I cannot let ′em search the coupe
Had a pocket full of green dubs, then I turnt it blue
'Cause said the tans don't work, he done turnt to blues
I′m a vet, striped up, but lil′ bro earned 'em too
Designer oversized, pissed that the shirt too loose
Feeling like a Raptor from Toronto in these purple Loubs

Gettin′ up, I might honey dip, feel like Vince Carter
In the middle of the intersection, finna spin Chargers
To even keep the game fair, y'all gon′ need six starters
Hitman one-shottin' shit, he don′t get hit markers
You know why? 'Cause this life shit is not a game
We are not the same, hundred on me, we don't shop the same
You probably hoppin′ off the bus, I′m hoppin' on a plane
Bro feeling grown, got that big face and copped it plain

Need the date included, I can′t do just that Datejust
Caught him up close, small map, but it ain't Rust
Yesterday was Turtle Pie, today, I had to face Runtz
Two grams where? Boy, I only face eight blunts
Brodie like the bottom of the ′bow, tryna shake somethin'
Preaching ′bout some bands, but did you wake up and make some?
Told my young bull, "Keep going, yeah, the hate comes"
Fly as hell in my Stone Island, I could base jump


Learned how to lose less, now I'm a gain-iac
Want a three-five? Shit, it's eighty for the eighthy, jack
Brodie threw a bullet accurate like a Brady pass
Me being broke? You cornballs, almost made me laugh

Huh, nah, for real though
Use your fucking head, dude
What the fuck was you thinking?
Cornball, I′ma call you, "Cornelius"

Skrrt, the demon whip, try to race, ain′t no beatin' it
Unky had some clean work, but then he put his feet in it
Had to beat my plug ass like, "Why was it seeds in this?"
On Rodeo, spent 30K, shit, I needed drip
Why the hell is you still rollin′ up Gorilla Glue?
They'll rip banana peels, I ever let them ′rillas loose
Pull up on an opp like, "What the fuck you think you finna do?"
Thousand dollar mess in the booth, I just spilled my juice

Big, 'cause was sittin′ in that spot back when Billups hooped
Playing with the dog, unky got some shit to scoop
It ain't no extra garlic butter, told 'em, "Fix my food"
You an early bird, huh? Finna work a six-to-two
Russian cream, honey, OG Bourbons here and there
Hate when fans don′t say shit, just be weird and stare
Brodie said that he′ll face death, he don't fear the chair
Ask me if I give a fuck, I ain′t nowhere near a care

Had to play the Faygo off a bag of Better Mades
Shit, I threw a stack up and made the weather change
Free Ju, I wish they would've put him on that tether thing
Hug the block, I be playing how the centers play
Fucked around and caught a paper cut off these blue Benjis
I was at the register tryna cop some new Fendi
We don′t do semis, and you know that we don't do hemis
I ain′t sipping on no liquor, I don't do Henny

(D-d-damn, Machu, why'd you have to do ′em like that?)