[Intro]

The intelligence level is reduced a bit

[Verse]

I feel like the world don't like me

I just don't get it, like if you wanna fight me, then fight me

A Spike Lee joint to wear the rest of the day down

There ain't no point to lay round lounging

When eight pounds of K rounds stay in your draws hiding

I can feel angels and devils fighting

Biting, and crying out for me to stop hyping up an EP

That ain't likely to hit the charts

Like pop tarts, and Trojan biremes

That didn't make sense did it

I can't find the rest of my brain, someone must have hid it

And I'm on you like the Chronicles of Riddick

Daniel Lim is getting diminished

Somebody please tell Emily Devine she still classifies as a preteen

So please go back to preschool reading

While I keep playing with all this dough, kneading

She won't hear this, so it's fine for that to be leaking

Three spleens I cut out of myself, easily

Sellin' free lean with green beans

And running with Gabbie, and Hardeep

Obviously, I'm sorry if it hurts

For you to get down, beat down more than Captain Kirk

Alert, alert

A butthurt feminist I reminisce about

She blocked me

Whatever

But now I'm done with that

Hop out my flat

A lumberjack takin' me to Rumba Rapids

They love to talk all that bologna

So what happens when I get on ya

And tell 'em all that Alex really wants to get off with

Tanya

Rollin' round in a three-wheeler, with an orange peeler

Hopin' to see my dealer, his name is Peter, he's a healer

So I speak with him about the time Shun never made a move on Marina

'Cause it kinda reminds of the time I tried to move to Sh-

Never mind

That doesn't really matter

The fact is the stacks is getting fatter and fatter

I batter and batter, your face so pale, you start to look like the Mad Hatter

I won't bait you out, but I'm talkin' to you

Ain't nobody been whacker

I knock you out 'til your skull shatters

And scatters all of your brain matter on the Vatican floor

Here, take these donations, you'll need 'em for child support

I go acapella, I don't need a beat's support

A Ouija board mixed with C Minor chords leaves a different taste

Like cranberry sauce

I'm happy to stick a fork in the neck of Jasper Gaunt

I'm just too raw

I'm bound to cause frowns, 'til I hang myself upside-down with a phoneless cord

No support comes to you when I'm hunting you down

Like a god damn Liam Neeson story