Five Courses - Intellectual

You can find me slappin the durag off a whiteboy’s head

Or takin scissors and some clippers to a whiteboy’s dreads

On Reddit, wreakin havoc in the whiteboy’s threads

Thinkin, Damn, I wonder if they remembered I’m a whiteboy yet

I’m the greatest semiprofessional rapper of all time

Committin small crimes: feedin Jewish children bags of pork rinds

Makin up for lost rhymes by writin for your top five

And pickpocketin everyone askin me why I’m not signed

Swandive into the endives, cheddar, guac, chives

And every culinary synonym for money I could not find

Got rappers hurtin like Gronk spine

And if they overstayin they welcome, I’m chargin em for extra lot time

Notebook full of opium leaves. Every song from your team

Work as well as camouflagin golden fatigues

Def a guttersnipe, with white ice on my heartbeat

I Shark Week rappers in an ocean where only the guppies talk cheap

I fathered the underground

That’s why I first heard your style through an UltraSound

Them babies can’t rap like their pops

Carried my tape through the Sahara in a cast-iron box

Lawrence of Arabia beard on. In rare form

VIP at the club, makin it rain Scantrons

Y’all tryna raise the bar that I bought out

It’s Father’s Day. Got so many cards that I lost count

My whole crew shoots art and writes drugs

Shatters the hourglass whenever our time comes

Damn...I’m like the Dame Dash of bounced checks

Y’all take mouse steps. I put elephant feet through couch sets

Twenty-second timeouts, late-game decisions

Livin day to day, fam. I measure faith in inches

Paper-plated kitchen. Never ape the system

Ancient wisdom--throw a chair to break the tension

You can tell it’s me by the gas smoke

Post-apocalypse: Haz-Mat lab coat full of dad jokes

Still the bad yolk, black goat, odd goose

Sharp tooth knocked loose. Lost youth

Stolen out my billfold. Engraved the dead’s names

On my Tims and finished hittin the heel-toe..Some of what I built broke

Some of it got legs like sequoia trunks

Poison funk boilin up outta Ian’s crib in the Mil, jo

Akademiks tellin drill jokes. Lost my laughter

At the first teenaged wake I couldn’t sit still for

Studied Hov blueprints--water pour out the songs

Face fallin like Rome. Colosseum full of poems

Are you not entertained? Blood on the lion fangs

Mud in the Nike veins. Usher dance in iron rain

What do you prescribe for pain? All I had was smoke and drink

And still havin dreams of my friends dyin, mane

Lookin at the exit. I ain’t traveled as far

Wasted my twenties arguin rap at the bar

Like, “Settle a bet. Hell is Hot or Flesh of my Flesh?”

The road to redemption built outta bottles I’ll never regret

The Adventures of Adderall Adam and his Jagged Little Pillbox

Cut open his memory, and it’ll spill rocks

Built clocks with gears from my train of thought

Owin debts of gratitude, and I’ll never pay em off

At your favorite rapper’s shows, and I’m writin all the cue cards

Their style so old they gotta help it put its shoes on

Lace the beat like a corset

Got more bars than Hollywood got divorces

Expect heaven to drop, but I ain’t tellin y’all about it

In the middle of my sermon when I had fell off the mountain

And they never really ever helped me back to the summit

Still rapped as both of the ten commandment tablets cracked in my stomach

Beat the breaks off the beat

Wiped the snakes off my feet

Tipped my hat to my heart

I ignored it for art

I painted you my ego and I tore it apart

Beat the breaks off the beat

Wiped the snakes off my feet

Tipped my hat to my heart

I ignored it for art

I painted you my ego, then I tore it apart

Legend has it...he wrote a hundred bars a day

Still not true enough to unlock a state-sponsored cage

Built a storage locker with books of rhymes and tapes

Threw gas, lit a match, dropped it...then walked away

Retired ten miles from the nearest open mic night

Wrote his memoirs. Was happier broke in hindsight

Last seen at the bar, arguin with two Tomorrow Kings

Askin Rich to borrow rings to rock at the Bada-Bing

Too drunk to drive home...let’s see what manana brings

Lookin at every sunrise like it’s a slot machine

Rumors are backdrafts--lately, he’s writin mad raps

Prayin that his future isn’t twinnin with his dad’s past

Only taking interviews via landline

Quit Twitter. Started livin off the fat of the landmine

What don’t excite you thrills him

You don’t like him? Bill him