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Yo—

Six-seven… again?

Goddamn, give it a rest.

Six-seven, six-seven, hear it all day,

Somebody says the number and my brain melts away.

It’s not clever, it’s not funny, it’s getting absurd,

Six-seven got me sick of the English language, word.

I wake up—six-seven.

Go to work—six-seven.

Check my phone—six-seven.

Motherfucker, what the hell?!

Fuck six-seven, that shit’s overrated,

Every damn time I hear it, I get aggravated.

Six-nine walks in and the whole room gets better,

Six-nine’s got style, six-nine’s got swagger.

You can keep your six-seven, throw it in the bin—

6,9 motherfucker, that’s the number to win!

Six-seven lurking like a bad smell,

Every conversation turns into numerical hell.

“Yo, what’s your number?” — “Six-seven!”

Bitch, please, I’m begging you, pick eleven.

Six-nine rolls up like, “Move out the way,”

Got everybody laughing, having a better damn day.

Six-seven’s standing there looking confused and pathetic,

While six-nine’s so legendary it’s practically genetic.

Fuck six-seven, that shit’s overrated,

Every damn mention got me aggravated.

Six-nine’s better, everybody knows,

Six-seven walks in and the whole vibe goes.

Six-seven can fuck right off forever—

6,9 on top, now and forever!

Six-seven? BOOOO.

Six-nine? HELL YEAH.

Case closed.

Numbers have spoken.