Oh they don't know nothin bout no hip hop
Look at 'em, look at 'em man
Little suburban fucks
What the fuck you doin at your shows homie?
Don't listen to 'em Math You, do your thing
Little Math You, fifteen, suburban
And it ain't shit if it ain't the cursin version
With the sticker on the front to piss off his dad
Just tell that bitch to get off the rag, huh
Little Math You from the burbs gotta here it
It's like the only thing that puts the nerve in his spirit
Go ahead and make some ruckus for the hell of it
And yell it on the streets about monotonous development
Your telling me that this ain't for him right
How many y'all motherfuckers get an invite?
Give him access and let Math You here ya
Wait a half a year and he'll be rapping in that mirror
And when he does, check him on his royalty
Was peace when he just played the piece of the royalties
Love is love if that's what you give
I couldn't give a fuck about where you grew up or where you live
It goes...
Oh you a star now huh
You large now, your too large to talk
Don't forget I used to give you free refills motherfucker
Forget snitchin motherfucker, stop bitchin
If you afraid of rats get the fuck out the kitchen
They only come when you cookin up a mess
And I'm supposed to be impressed by your bulletproof vest?
That come back, gun packin touch act
Thug chapter bout entertaining as a bug zapper
Fuck that, add up all the stories in your raps
And subtract each one that isn't really from your past
Take the remainder and multiply
With how many times in your life you thought that you was gonna die
Divide that sum with the outcome
Of how many kids you had before you dropped an album
Low ceiling for the masses of dope rappers
Most of dope dealers that I know got broke ladders
Try to juggle both factors, shit I can't imagine that math
I'm just a high school brat
But I know what matters is that I gave it everything that I have
Cause I'm a son and a dad
Trynna learn mathematics for the growth
I'm out, I got to hit the gym so we can film a video
