O.C.D

​(Verse 1: The Standard)
Look, I’m good off the sloppy, I ain't feeling the spill
I need that Calculated motion, that specialized skill
Most these chicks just gagging, tryna play the part
But I need that Technical, that's a different art
They think throwing up is motion, nah, that’s just a lie
I’m looking for the Elite, the ones that’s qualified
Don't just hold your lips and slide, that’s some amateur play
I need that Surgical grip, doing work the West Coast way.
​(Chorus: The Philosophy)
It’s about the technique and the finesse, rather than the mess
Trading in the sloppy for the Mastery, I must confess
Keep it Polished, keep it tight, leave the chaos at the door
I need that Doctorate level, then I’m coming back for more
Yeah, that Calculated touch, that Surgical flow
If it ain't Elite, baby, you already know.
​(Verse 2: The Lesson)
Stop trying to rush the job, just enjoy the work
Before Daddy takes over and makes that throat hurt
Real ones know how to take it, how to throw it and hold
Move it with precision, yeah, that's solid gold
We like the spit, let it drip, we don't care about the juice
But that throwing up? Man, that’s just an excuse
Don't be making my bed nasty, keep the audio clean
Straight Bob on the Cob, know what I mean?
Learn how to swallow on the knob, don't be acting brand new
If you ain't a specialist, then I'm through with you.
​(Outro)
Yeah...
No throw up, no stress.
Just that OCD dome, nothing less.
Trade the messy for the Mastery.
Keep it Technical.
We out

modern R&B, trap-soul, intimate male voice, sensual harmonies, deep 808s, airy pads, slow groove