Vic Mensa – Drug Dealers Anonymous (Freestyle) lyrics

[Verse 1]
Look: revolutionary anonymous
Secret Service, wear my surveillance like I'm Obama's kids
16 shots and now they got me on the wiretap
Running the trunk with a blunt, yerrp, fire that
Ride in the track to Michigan, fightin' the drug case
District attorney lookin' at me with the screw face
Dude say, “Don't you know it's no hope with dope?”
But he ain't know how dope I was
Or I'd have probably caught a new case
My suitcase is packed with Alexander McQueen shit
I call Wang personally, I don't need a seamstress
Plead the fifth, plus I keep my chick in that Vera Wang
Rockin' so much Wang, you'd've thought it was the family name
Yeah, I know that I'm a target
So I drew it on myself, let the industry be the marksman
If you look close, you'd see that every bullet missed my frame
Them 16 shots around me not enough to count the names
From Tamir Rice, to Mike, to Eric Garner, Freddie Gray
Oscar Grant, Eric Gray—what more can I say?
Uh, fuckin' A, dance away the pain
Don't wanna hit the Quan, I do my dab to duck a stray
Pray for these shorties, they bankin' like West Side Story
But black on black crime is only one side of the story
You got them bodies hanging from trees in our recent past
You forget that this the type of shit that they teach in class
Hold on—

[Verse 2]
Check it
When the Harriet Tubmans drop, I need 20 Gs
Free D'Ussé for every slave she ever freed
Turn up and down to the Underground Railroad
The bouncers let my people go like Moses told the Pharaoh
Yeah, flow on the Whitney Museum taste level
Uh, taste is on the Spotted Pig plate level
My London chick doin' A-levels need a stunt double
I stunt like Rupert Murdoch, got me feelin' like a daredevil
I heard they tried to ban the kid from the SoHo House
That's cool, 40/40, get my photo ops
Right, direct and produce the video clips
Y'all talk like bitches in the commons
Cause you're just a bunch of photo thots
Oh no, there we go, promotin' violence
They thought that rap was just for show
But this is no Empire shit
I'm no Hakeem, I came to dream
Elijah on my team
Keep the Houston Rockets, the Clippers taller than Yao Ming
Never wanted to be about gun talk
But if you start me at them racists, I will let the guns out
This is just a disclaimer for anyone that wanna come for mine
I turn your life to bad karma when it's drama time
I got Carr crackers that'll yank your bank card
Run up in Saks like, “Thank you, Based God!”
Oh, you don't know my name better watch your damn words
You don't wanna end up with that Kevin Durant curse
I'm Game 7 Steph, EP nothin' but net
You want a physical, Martin Shkreli, write a check
I'm goin' Wu-Tang forever, my crew bang forever
SAVEMONEY with that Roc-A-Fella, my new gang forever