Your Old Droog – Bangladesh (feat. Heems)

I peeped the scenery, sipping green tea
The terrible son chronicles and cock-blocking perils
Or on the voicemail like John Tesh

Bank off the city, hit the bank, cop a CD (I’m high)
With the raw and Bobby Brown jaw
If my melanin could talk and tell you what the brown saw
Former cokeheads like Doc and Darryl
I’ve been yelling, I’ve been screaming, I’ve been kicking, I’ve been crying
Just hit me back classic man
Mama tried to punk me, dump me, jump me
Still came in this lock, stock, and barrel
She said "Heemy you can’t see me why you such a meany for?"
You’re better off silent like Depeche
Couldn’t see me in the flesh
So I should probably keep it quiet
Used to be virile ‘fore the ‘ports made me sterile
I’mma need a verse from you home skillet. I’m honored to get on it." Or you know, "Fuck is this guy Sean P?", whatever But, you know, you might not wanna do it, you know – call me back and tell me "You know what, get the fuck outta here, fuck Sean P." Or, or you might call with, "hey, Sean this is the best record I’ve heard in my life, man. Classic man, it’s Sean P.
Why did the brown pour, the feds probably ’round y’all
[Verse 2: Heems]
[Sean Price Voicemail Outro]
Saw my looks dilapidate at a rapid rate

[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
As I try to make sense of the time that whizzed by
Put the bars together like a restaurateur provocateur
At 16 my slang was fresh
And I ain’t even ahead, thieving for bread
The old head dropped gems in the yard like Mr. Feeny
But I dust myself off, rocking my apparel
With Santini, Houdini in a zucchini-colored Lamborghini
Only whip low-key: Miata or Sonata
Check my closet, see Lo like 3 dice
It’s Himachu – fuck a Pikachu or a Charizard
Twenty Bangladeshis with me, ’bout to start a riot
You herbs was playing Pokemon, chasing Charizard
About the selling and the buying
Now I’m in Tahiti with a queen like Nefertiti (she fly)
I’m Fellini eating fettuccine at the mini-mall
Out in Long Island, why you don’t come to the city for?
Offshore accounts in Dubai with habibi (my guy)
My bars is hard, my girl went to Barbizon
Funky fresh cold medina hot sexy punkie
While I was making sure every bar is hard

Bandit with a candle lit, grieving the dead, I said
They paying when I’m flying
I would not tire, spitting hot fire in the sesh
You can’t see me ’cause my face between her titties (that’s why)
I’m all disheveled the stress levels is high

You know my steelo
If you don’t know anything, know that YOD nice
We move that product for the Prada
Tranquilo since Jordan made The Shot on Ehlo
Thought I did the rap shit in vain like a junky
Now I’m pulling up to Leanly
Whipping in that beany 4-door like you on city hall
Cause I kept it hundred since 21 and Jump Street