Self

Maybe this the album you listen to in your car

When you're drivin' home at night, really questionin' every God

Religion, Kanye, bitches, maybe this is the entrance

Before you get to the river

A heaven before the heathen, no reason for you to like me

Maybe this, your wifey just wantin' a clean divorce

This baby ain't really yours, this really for babies teethin'

And chicken wings under seasoned

Y'all really thought a bitch couldn't rap, huh?

Maybe this your answer for that, a crack era

The Reagan administration that **** are still scared of

Nah, actually, this is for me

This one for T.T. at the lake, serving the mac and the cheese

This one a small apology for all the calls that I screened

Mr. Money Man, Mr. Every Day, he got me

Mr. wifing me down, Mr. Me-Love, Mr. Miyagi

Miscellaneous, Mr. Molly inside my psyche

Incredible, incredible emptiness in my body

Heaven's only four feet tall, I set my ringer to it

Fucked your rapper homie, now his ass is making better music

My pussy teachin' ninth-grade English

My pussy wrote a thesis on colonialism

In conversation with a marginal system in love with Jesus

And y'all still thought a bitch couldn't rap, huh?

Maybe this your answer for that, good pussy

I know **** only talk about money and good pussy