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Kyrie & Luka (feat. 2 Chainz) letra


ATL, what's up, shawty?
NYC​, yo-yo-yo, kid
D-Town, what up doe?
Toni!

Standin' on the speaker, tall as Burj Khalifa
Powder on the plate'll turn your girl into Eureka
Remember, if I don't see it, then I don't believe ya
I done done some pretty dumb things on the tequila
Birthday in Vegas, layin' with my weezy
Asked about her friends, she like: Boy, I don't believe ya
I'm just tryna live and they turned it to evil
My partner is a Crip, the only thing he eat is seafood
School of hard knocks, I can fuck around and teach you (Uh)
License to kill and I just got 'em renewed (Uh)
Spoke to Def Jam and they talkin' 'bout a renote
Spoke to Ghazi and he can pay me in crypto (Yeah)
Bored Ape Yacht Club, yeah, I'm Ricky Steamboat
And you know my vibe, I'm mixin' mine with the pinot
I say scratch that, gone and bring it back like Preemo
I say scratch that, gone and bring it back like Preemo
You know my set, I'm throwin' dollar signs
I lick her neck and turn the body to a water slide
I'm in the bottom of my bag like some hot fries
Toni, Toni, Toni, Toni, Toni, that my top five, shit
Now watch me swag on this beat
Enough to make Rakim proud of me
You got my math and your bitch ass post somethin' negative
You coulda called me
I'm from the dark side, but the whip lightskin
I do what I wanna do like white men
I hit you in the fuckin' head with the mic stand
I fuck my girl in the daytime on a nightstand
You ain't know that, did ya?
Real recognize real and you don't look familiar
I'm from Riverdale Road, we ain't got no river
Got the pole concealed behind the partition, listen
A trap nigga, I perform at bar mitzvah
A trap nigga, I perform at the Crystals
I ain't gon' fight, but I still tote pistols
Ain't gon' kill ya, all I got to do is whistle
Damn, I think my whistle off (Off)
They've been plagiarisin', they've been stealin' sauce (Sauce)
Soon as I see 'em, I'ma pick 'em off
I got a beard, but I must ask Ricky Ross (Huh?)
God took his time with me
Kingpins wanna sign with me
Gunshots is truly Atlanta
While things are goin' left like Julius Randle
I got this shit lit, no need for a candle
Just like Kyrie, I got this shit handled (Yeah)
Just like Kyrie, I got this shit handled (Ayo)

Walkin' around your party, like where the party at? (Yo, where the party at?)
Yeah, Bacardí and 'Gnac could lead to a cardiac
But I'm drunk and I give a fuck, like how Cardi act (Cardi)
I'm already back, I just had to run to my car to yack
Headache, an Aleve, I'ma need eight of 'em (Woah)
For pete's sake, I've been steppin' on leaf rakes again (Ow)
I keep wakin' up in the bed with complete strangers (The fuck are you?)
And I eat prazosin, get more chicks than Pete Davidson (Woah)
Man, I can't help it, I'm me (No), I got the devil in me (Yup)
Let me put it more delicately (Here)
Fuck your feelings, I'm a felon, pussy, you're jealous of me
Prolly 'cause my cerebellum's a parabellum, pussy
Even if I swear to celibacy, I'd still be like a female that's hooking (Why?)
Ain't shit you can do to stop me from sellin', pussy (Oh)
Yeah, warped mind, your rhymes
Are so fuckin' washed up, I call 'em shorelines (Woo)
But as long as a nine-year-old's mind is washable
I'ma search till I find the most awfullest line as possible (Yeah)
Mind is off, all I need is a small little pint of vodka
To be talked into tryna walk up inside of a Shriner's hospital and (*Gunfire*)
They're tryna make Marshall the guy responsible (For what?)
For little Joshua's giant arsenal
Like I'm also the reason his 9 is cocked and he brought his tool
And decides to hide it inside of his locker till the next time he's picked on at school
But you're out of your gourd if you're thinkin' that I ain't killin' this beat
I'm not even forcin' myself to vomit, but if I had a fuckin' eating disorder
Or anorexia, believe me, I couldn't body this more for ya (Yeah)
Man, I'm beyond childish (Bitch)
When I'm on Valiums (Yeah), just like mom downs 'em
They call it Munchausen (Why?)
'Cause she hands me some (Here)
Then says: C'mon, chow, son (Chow, son)
These are non-drowsin' (Uhh?)
I mean non-drowsy (Right), but they'll help you calm down some
So, before I zonk out, I'm tryna make Rob proud
I'm hopin' this song riles him
I pop like nine thousand, I'm outtie, five-thousand (Oh)
Hold up (One more thing)
Spit syllables on the mic in the booth
Like I'm at Drew's, even if I win or lose
I'm in the news, even my interviews (Yeah)
Get like five million views, I get accused
Of misogyny because I will massage any bitch just like a masseuse
Mixin' NyQuil and booze, Heineken brews
Hide 'em inside of my shoes, ah (Psych, what the fuck?)
I'm just playin' (Fuckin' mumble rap)

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