Ionika - SMOKE (feat. MATCHA)

I got the sauce inside the bag, ‘sup with that? (‘Sup with that, ‘sup with that)
Man these critics talkin’ shit, ‘sup with that? (‘Sup with that, ‘sup with that)
These bitches lookin’ like a snack, ‘sup with that? (‘Sup with that, ‘sup with that)
These haters sleepin’ on my album, fuck yo’ nap
Smokin’ out a pack, I got the homies in the back (In the back)
And we out to make some racks, we getting paid in all cash (Hell yeah)
Sexy bitches wanna ride, but they party ’til they die (Hah)
I’m feelin’ fuckin’ high, you can see it in my eyes
In my eyes, look in my eyes, had thoughts of suicide (I wanna die)
Lies, girl tell me lies, she on the other side (Fuck your lies)
My, oh my, oh my, that whip I wanna buy (I wanna buy)
When I record these lines, call that a homicide, rah
Goin’ on ‘em with the sicko mode
Got twenty labels that are on the phone
Flow’s dope, I keep it lyrical
At the top, call it my pinnacle
Goin’ on ‘em with the sicko mode
The weakest rappers acting cynical
Asian shawties playing with the snow
Night is young, but we moving slow (Aye)
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, aye (Aye, what)
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, aye
Okay, okay, okay, okay (Yuh)
Fam be askin’ if I’m doin’ okay, what do I say? (I don’t know)
Water gun on melee, I spray, I like acting crazy (Blaow, blaow)
They say, they say, they say, they say (Aye, what they say?)
Eddie’s hasty, man he needs saving (Huh?)
Don’t go no savings, his future’s lazy (Okay)
He won’t be famous, ‘cause they all hate him (Yeah?)
Man, he’s so tasteless, lives in a basement
Don’t be asking me fucking questions, ‘cause what do I know? (What do I know?)
I know that I’m the king, you can just call me El Dorado (El Dorado)
My chances of failing are the same as winning the lotto (Win the lotto)
I’ll take my time with my success like I’m moving legato
Goin’ on ‘em with the sicko mode
Got twenty labels that are on the phone
Flow’s dope, I keep it lyrical
At the top, call it my pinnacle
Goin’ on ‘em with the sicko mode
The weakest rappers acting cynical
Asian shawties playing with the snow
Night is young, but we moving slow
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, aye (Aye, what)
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, aye
Say you want the smoke, but it’s just smoke and mirrors (Pow, pow)
Every word I’ve spoken, you’re supposed to hear
I’m letting you know, over the phone, close to your ear, oh dear
I’m Edna Mode, dramatic, my flow is my fabric, so sheer (Sheesh)
Wondering who shot ya?
It’s not MATCHA
Not my style
I stay saucing like Sriracha
If I did it, then I said it
Keep me out your mentions
Or I might just snap on you like hair bands (Yeah)
Hold up pause, I’m Smokey
Catch these fists, nothing but bare hands
Aye, what
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, aye (Aye, what)
Man, these haters want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these critics want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Man, these rappers want some smoke, here we go (Here we go)
Here we go, boutta blow, no, what

Written by:
EDWARD YIYANG CAI, SERA SELIN GUVEN

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave

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