King Me - Intellectual

[Verse 1: Despot]

Finger stuck in the nose of any shiny starter pistol

Stole it and figured a riddle for the trigger finger, tickles

Sends him dashing for the entrance to collapse before the middle

Super rapping, super laughing, sucka standing soaked in spittle

That's the sound of a trickle turning into a flood

And this particular water is thicker than blood

Graduate from sticking in dirt to sticking in mud

All it takes is piss on your turf to convince 'em to run

Head for the hills, king of those too and it fits like a glove

Plus dressed to kill, Governor fists full of face with a shrug

Death to the fools finding truth at eye level with the rules

I see shit better than you from the bottom of the shoe

Live from the pair of parentheses next to the wordpool

He came to claim his prize taped under the bar stool

And when that smile comes I won't know where to put it

'Til I carve it into someone who looks like he understood it

This is the kind of hat they give, king me

High chair and a plastic ring, king me

I'm proud of my fancy thing, king me

Two claps and the bastards sing, king me

Get on the floor and do the cement shoe dance

Sink into the new stance

Look ma, two hands

The smile in my heart moves to wherever the tooth lands

Tasting a hefty helping of "I'm bigger than you" and

Forced to kiss the ring of the same bell it was saved by

Suck it up, some runners-up are dumb enough to aim high

Grazed by the glory of a rich man in poor taste

Couldn't get the cat into the bag in the first place

See him sprinting for the consolation prize at a worm's pace

Cause going for the gold is a prescription to lose face

Blame it on the sons of bitches giving orders to move late

Ready, set, it should've left before they brought out a new cake

But blowin' out the candles always seemed trump feeding and

It's a great chance to spit on the crumbs that try leaving

When they all called him jolly good fellow for no reason

Keeps his nose pointed up at the only air fit for breathin'

While the rest say what little they got by not speakin'

At best get to twiddle their thumbs and dodge treason

Standing under that dunce cap by choice

Never thought of sharpening those olive branches to points

And join the ranks who dare to raise their hands and guess wrong

Follow footsteps to the start, a sad song

This little goody one-shoes with his Sunday best on

Oh it's right there if I needed a toe to step on