Your Old Droog – Bangladesh (feat. Heems)


With Santini, Houdini in a zucchini-colored Lamborghini
Offshore accounts in Dubai with habibi (my guy)
Why did the brown pour, the feds probably ’round y’all
But I dust myself off, rocking my apparel
You herbs was playing Pokemon, chasing Charizard
Mama tried to punk me, dump me, jump me
We move that product for the Prada

Saw my looks dilapidate at a rapid rate
Funky fresh cold medina hot sexy punkie
Bank off the city, hit the bank, cop a CD (I’m high)
Tranquilo since Jordan made The Shot on Ehlo
At 16 my slang was fresh
If my melanin could talk and tell you what the brown saw
Former cokeheads like Doc and Darryl
Put the bars together like a restaurateur provocateur
I’m all disheveled the stress levels is high
I’m Fellini eating fettuccine at the mini-mall
It’s Himachu – fuck a Pikachu or a Charizard
Bandit with a candle lit, grieving the dead, I said
If you don’t know anything, know that YOD nice
Just hit me back classic man

And I ain’t even ahead, thieving for bread
You’re better off silent like Depeche
Check my closet, see Lo like 3 dice
[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]
Thought I did the rap shit in vain like a junky
Out in Long Island, why you don’t come to the city for?
About the selling and the buying
You can’t see me ’cause my face between her titties (that’s why)
[Verse 2: Heems]
The old head dropped gems in the yard like Mr. Feeny
With the raw and Bobby Brown jaw
As I try to make sense of the time that whizzed by
She said "Heemy you can’t see me why you such a meany for?"
Still came in this lock, stock, and barrel
While I was making sure every bar is hard
I peeped the scenery, sipping green tea
[Sean Price Voicemail Outro]

Only whip low-key: Miata or Sonata
Used to be virile ‘fore the ‘ports made me sterile
I’mma need a verse from you home skillet. 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. I’m honored to get on it." Or you know, "Fuck is this guy Sean P?", whatever
Bangladesh
Couldn’t see me in the flesh
I would not tire, spitting hot fire in the sesh
You know my steelo
Cause I kept it hundred since 21 and Jump Street
So I should probably keep it quiet
The terrible son chronicles and cock-blocking perils
I’ve been yelling, I’ve been screaming, I’ve been kicking, I’ve been crying
Or on the voicemail like John Tesh
Twenty Bangladeshis with me, ’bout to start a riot
Now I’m pulling up to Leanly
Now I’m in Tahiti with a queen like Nefertiti (she fly)
Whipping in that beany 4-door like you on city hall
My bars is hard, my girl went to Barbizon
They paying when I’m flying