Lyrics:

[Produced By Chuck Strangers]
[Scratches By Statik Selektah]

[Intro]
(Go Brooklyn)
Said what it's like?
Joey Bad and Chuck Strangers
Leave niggas endangered
It's the real, yo what's the word word?
Pass the herbs
Check

[Verse 1: Joey Bada$$]
My man Dirty had the buddha just to put me in my right mind
I rhyme stoned, drop jewels and bright lines
Sight dimes wit' slight closed eyes, I'm slight soba
Ma you ain't that girl at giving throat so bye
F it I'm bi-po-la, took shorty to the backroom
Play charades, she actin like a vacuum
Showed her to the door before the afternoon
She fell hard on the floor, so you know that she'll be back soon
Fake MC's get their reps ruined
Young villain hop up on the track then the track doomed
Click-clack-boom, resurrecting Boom-Bap from the tombs
Raps dope like crack in cocoons
Back in this mood, back on the move
It's the motherfucking real, nigga chill act cool
Pay respect to the cat Drew
And I'm way too blessed to be throwing shots at you

[Hook: Rokamouth]
Big ups to Brooklyn, home of the realest
Big ups to Brooklyn, home of the era

[Verse 2: Chuck Strangers]
I'm tryna find my own lane, in this freeway of life
Just remember home boy there ain't no free way to life
My nigga it's gon cost you, try not to lose your soul
To the rims, hoes, and gold
Cause once the devil grab hold, that nigga ain't letting go
And I'm far from religious, I just know right and wrong
I know how to write these songs, I know how to light these bongs
I know how to rip thongs and I'm pretty good at beer pong
Nigga, I'm so crazy, nigga I'm loco
Gassed up like Sunoco, press the pedal through the floor
Bitch we out the door, Vroom vroom skuuurrt
Bitch love don't live here no more
Cause her weave look faker than her Louie bag
Weak chick I tried to bag, had the nerve to turn me down
Heard this song and turned around
Now she want me to unzip her pants
But I'm gone, bitch missed her chance

[Hook] (x2)
Big ups to Brooklyn, home of the realest
Big ups to Brooklyn, home of the era

[Verse 3 : Joey Bada$$]
I got sick of class, started making classics
Now all I really do is get the grass lit and bust asses
I'm sure to blow like bust acid
Puff, assist like Maravich, a true Maverick
And I average above average on an average day
Doing bad shit bet you still can’t pass this
And his teacher still pass him
Though they adolescents be addin' rappin' sessions over addin' lessons
Like fuck trigonometry, I’m trying to multiply monopolies
Subtract some homies then divide the cheese
Divide legs just to isosceles so my eyes can see through the E
Shit on you hypotheses
Hypocrisy after essence like apostrophes
You can’t stand here unless you pay a posture fee
Part the cheese, head out the spot and leave
A pile of G's for apology