white chocolate
Step out the Lexus in cream-colored Clarks, strictly high-fashion Pale complexion, but the lyrical weapon cause pure damage Dripped in white gold, sitting at the table with the mobsters Ordering steak, but I brought my own mayo for the lobsters Yeah, I look like I work in IT or sell real estate Till I drop forty bars and leave the whole cipher in a state Sunburn in July, but cold ice on the pinky ring Rhyming like I learned the gospel straight from the Brooklyn king Silk robes floating, ghost-white, haunting the staircases People look twice when I chop rhymes in high places "Is that Eminem’s cousin?" Nah, son, respect the lineage White Chocolate, raw cut, supreme technical image Pyrex glass, melting beat, cook it till it's ivory I can trade bars with any brother from Staten to Ivory Coast No suntan needed, the heat on the mic cooks me whole Bite into the bar, got that dark cocoa inside my soul Hook (Bam! Bam! Heavy 101 BPM snare cracks) White Chocolate! Smooth on the cut, heavy on the beat! Pale hands on the wheel, but the flow belongs to the street! Chef in the kitchen, mixing up the formula right Equal on the mic, strictly raw, dark or light! (Repeat Hook) Verse 2 Yo, check the recipe—vanilla bean mixed with the heavy bass Sunscreen on my nose, but I still dominate the whole space Got brothers in the booth saying, "Yo, who let the accountant in?" Till I spit five minutes straight and take home the championship win Wallabee suedes spotless, milk-white like the cocaine Flow so absurd it leaves a stain on your whole brain I don't need a golden chain to prove I got the pedigree I'm standing on the block trading slang with the embassy Slang soufflé, chef's special, served on a china plate Never ate pork, but I'm getting fat off the rap rate Pale face, heavy pace, leaving competitors in second place They thought I was the driver, now I'm running the whole race Cinematic street rap, picture me in a white linen suit Eating fondue in the back of a bulletproof Coupe 101 on the tempo, clock hitting 3:36 clean The deadliest white boy that the East Coast has ever seen! Bridge (Beat strips back to just a heavy bassline and finger snaps) Yo, son, listen... People see the complexion and expect me to talk about acoustic guitars and camping trips. Nah, God... we talking about 16-bar demolition. Melanin or no melanin, when this mic turns on, the room catches fire. Pass the Swiss cheese... let’s finish this. Hook White Chocolate! Smooth on the cut, heavy on the beat! Pale hands on the wheel, but the flow belongs to the street! Chef in the kitchen, mixing up the formula right Equal on the mic, strictly raw, dark or light!
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Step out the Lexus in cream-colored Clarks, strictly high-fashion Pale complexion, but the lyrical weapon cause pure damage Dripped in white gold, sitting at the table with the mobsters Ordering steak, but I brought my own mayo for the lobsters Yeah, I look like I work in IT or sell real estate Till I drop forty bars and leave the whole cipher in a state Sunburn in July, but cold ice on the pinky ring Rhyming like I learned the gospel straight from the Brooklyn king Silk robes floating, ghost-white, haunting the staircases People look twice when I chop rhymes in high places "Is that Eminem’s cousin?" Nah, son, respect the lineage White Chocolate, raw cut, supreme technical image Pyrex glass, melting beat, cook it till it's ivory I can trade bars with any brother from Staten to Ivory Coast No suntan needed, the heat on the mic cooks me whole Bite into the bar, got that dark cocoa inside my soul Hook (Bam! Bam! Heavy 101 BPM snare cracks) White Chocolate! Smooth on the cut, heavy on the beat! Pale hands on the wheel, but the flow belongs to the street! Chef in the kitchen, mixing up the formula right Equal on the mic, strictly raw, dark or light! (Repeat Hook) Verse 2 Yo, check the recipe—vanilla bean mixed with the heavy bass Sunscreen on my nose, but I still dominate the whole space Got brothers in the booth saying, "Yo, who let the accountant in?" Till I spit five minutes straight and take home the championship win Wallabee suedes spotless, milk-white like the cocaine Flow so absurd it leaves a stain on your whole brain I don't need a golden chain to prove I got the pedigree I'm standing on the block trading slang with the embassy Slang soufflé, chef's special, served on a china plate Never ate pork, but I'm getting fat off the rap rate Pale face, heavy pace, leaving competitors in second place They thought I was the driver, now I'm running the whole race Cinematic street rap, picture me in a white linen suit Eating fondue in the back of a bulletproof Coupe 101 on the tempo, clock hitting 3:36 clean The deadliest white boy that the East Coast has ever seen! Bridge (Beat strips back to just a heavy bassline and finger snaps) Yo, son, listen... People see the complexion and expect me to talk about acoustic guitars and camping trips. Nah, God... we talking about 16-bar demolition. Melanin or no melanin, when this mic turns on, the room catches fire. Pass the Swiss cheese... let’s finish this. Hook White Chocolate! Smooth on the cut, heavy on the beat! Pale hands on the wheel, but the flow belongs to the street! Chef in the kitchen, mixing up the formula right Equal on the mic, strictly raw, dark or light!
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