| I used to work at Subway | 
| Seven bucks an hour wasn’t much money | 
| But I be rapping and kicking it on my lunch break | 
| Like «I'mma make it out this motherfucker one day» | 
| I was in the back, back seat of the bus before a bluetooth | 
| Got the boombox and a blunt, bootlegger deuce-deuce | 
| H on my crew, we get drunk, a little coo-coo | 
| Type of dudes who square up and knock a tooth loose | 
| Quick to the basement, the, the, the basement | 
| That is the window I’m planning to vacate with | 
| Pops put on bars just in case somebody breaks in | 
| That’s not gonna stop me from getting to the pavement | 
| Shh, meeting Jerome at the bus stop | 
| I got the bigger roll, paranoid buck cops | 
| And all my city’s known for grunge, flannel, puck rock | 
| And a bunch of Sub Pop, I was on that Buckshot | 
| Window to window and wall to wall | 
| Can of Krylon, we out to bomb | 
| (Buckshot) | 
| Four in the morning I’m with the squad | 
| There we go, there we go, there we go, there we go | 
| Window to window and wall to wall | 
| Can of Krylon, we out to bomb | 
| Four in the morning I’m with the squad | 
| There we go, there we go, there we go, there we go | 
| Just copped that new Boot Camp tape | 
| The neighbors keep complaining ‘bout too much bass | 
| Bang, bang, let me do my thing | 
| Give me two cans and you gon' know my name | 
| You don’t want to get involved | 
| You know I be on these overpasses burning bridges, dog | 
| You know I be dippin' through these alleys tryna diss the law | 
| Sixteen with Adidas on | 
| I’m too speedy for police I’m chiefin' through these streets, I’m gone | 
| I got game, don’t need to talk anymore | 
| Boppity-bo, tippity-toppity, I pop me some more | 
| I was underground where he came from and he pop out a hole | 
| Cracked the top back on the flat black aerosol | 
| I woke up in the morning and I had a vision | 
| These suit and ties got the nerve to call it vandalism | 
| They hella mad, say my art is really bad for business | 
| But I’mma paint a better world until the cans are empty | 
| Now let it drip, let it drip | 
| If they catch me doing dirt I’ll plead the fifth | 
| I pop a top, I brought my Glock | 
| Speakers bumpin', I was on that Buckshot | 
| Window to window and wall to wall | 
| Can of Krylon, we out to bomb | 
| (Buckshot) | 
| Four in the morning I’m with the squad | 
| There we go, there we go, there we go, there we go | 
| Chill-chill-chilin' with the crew | 
| Just writing my name in graffiti on the wall | 
| Who-who-who is he? | 
| (Yeah, knowledge reigns supreme) | 
| Got the world following the… | 
| Turn up the CD or turn up the TV | 
| Turn up your T-A-P-E, turn your phone up, crank up the PC | 
| See, my boys are really PC if you’re talking graffiti | 
| See, we call it aerosol art when we splatter the city | 
| I got twenty five cans in my napsack | 
| Crossing out the whick-whack | 
| TIOS’s ain’t even get that | 
| Fat tips and black books, yo, we rep that | 
| 149th street bench is where we slept at | 
| Clep-clap, clep-clap, clep-clap, clep-clap | 
| Those are not my words, the spray can said that | 
| Where them reds at, or them green turquoise? | 
| Where my real graf writers? | 
| Make some noise | 
| Chill-chill-chilin' with the crew | 
| Just writing my name in graffiti on the wall | 
| Who-who-who is he? | 
| (Macklemore) | 
| Got the world following the… | 
| (Buckshot, shot, shot, shot) |