QUE. - The Sixth Man Intro

The Sixth Man Intro Lyrics


Sixth man, nigga

With cash like your neighborhood brick man, nigga

Let these cocksuckers sleep, man

Fuck ‘em


Call log filled with in-calls

I don’t even need to make out-calls

Everybody needs some fucking help

My momma told me I would be my downfall

People sleeping, like I sound like these niggas

Plus the label’s playing foul ball

Before I sell my soul, I’ll go to sell some bowls

And they can label me a fucking outlaw

Remaining humble dealing with these crackers

Is like trying to pull teeth from a toddler

Make you wanna walk inside their building, pull it out

And put their brain right by their collar

Rico Tune, they taught me chalk it up

Just charge it to the game and put that shit on wax

But where I’m from playing with people’s money

Gets you mummy-wrapped and gets you fucking wacked

That’s a fucking fact, and I ain’t used to that

And my fucking jaw's sore from biting my tongue

Like a vampire I can taste the blood

But these painkillers got me feeling numb

Since they fucking sleeping, they gon’ reap the benefits

And see what happens when you unleash a beast

Ungrateful ass motherfuckers

Don’t appreciate it when you try to feed the streets

They must not know a nigga play for keeps

‘Cause the people ‘round me gotta fucking eat

Cut some niggas off, ‘cause all they did was leach

And if you took it personal, feel free to leave


(Smell me?)

Fuck you and your opinion

You can have your opinion about me, nigga

Your opinion don’t put no money in my pocket

And that goes for ex-bitches, ex-friends

And for all these bloggers comparing a nigga

One hit wonder…


[Verse 2]

Fuck these critics and you fucking bloggers

That be typing write-ups comparing a nigga

Writing paragraphs like they fucking know you

And when they come around, they just stare at a nigga

And the ones who writing ain’t even rap savvy

And truth be told, they really scared of niggas

Make a nigga wanna grab the stick

And like Brian Nichols wheelchair a nigga

Two hits in one year and motherfuckers

Wanna play this game and call me Bobby Johnson

Fuck this rap game, and all that famous shit

Fuck a record deal, just hand me my deposit

I was seventeen when homicide detectives

Pulled me out of class and started showing me pics

And not once did I break a sweat

A nigga held it down, and I ain’t tell them shit

They told me all the time that I was facing

Plus the list of charges and I still ain’t flinched

From hooping live on ESPN

To facing five and losing scholarships

Then niggas started laughing when I started rapping

Crazy how they took me as a joke

Fast forward and now them same niggas

Want to work with Que and they’re still broke


Yea, you dig?

But see, I’m quick to go Hollywood on a nigga

Quick to catch up in the industry

Like Meek said, nigga

It’s levels to this shit

And I ain’t even see you, nigga

We’re not on the same level

We don’t fuck the same types of bitches

We don’t drive the same types of cars

We don’t even smoke the same type of weed, my nigga

And we damned sure ain’t in the same tax bracket

You dig?

Straight up

I don’t want to kick it, I don’t want to hang out

I’m damned sure don’t want to collab, or do a song with you

If we wasn’t cool back then, what makes you think we could be cool now?

Come on, man do the math

It’s simple—

I’m three years deep in this shit, man

I’ve been rapping for four

First time I ever touched the mic was in two thousand eleven, nigga

When I got kicked out of school—hooping, nigga

Like I told y’all, I’m not ‘on lie on the Intro, nigga

I’m a hooper

I just switched up to hustling

Don’t forget that

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