[Verse 1]
Welcome to the future
Rap won’t save you
Can you hear that?
Rap won’t save you
You want the truth?
You can’t handle the truth
You want Phantom sun-roofs, Armadale 80 proof
From shake, to shook, to shuck
From cake, to cook, to cluck
No hustling backwards
That’s the labor of luck
Gander back, holla front
Fuck a Mack of the Month
Where the Zag?
Roll the blunt and chill the fuck out (chill)
But you better chunk ‘em up doggy
Sweep the leg Johnny
What it do whoadie?
Hit ‘em up homey
Get ‘em up off me
Walk away talking shit and acting cocky
He ain’t gon’ harm me
Bob Marley
Better off kicking rocks with his army
Wet ‘em up OG
Simmer down Rudy, settle back mommy
Saddleback booty
I’m a Dogtown b-boy, low on the see-saw
From the shore, to the sea floor
De la Doom (huh?), from the Tree (oh!)
Oak medallions (what?) No bling
[Hook]
You went the wrong way down a one way
One way out, one way to win:
Go big or go home boy
Go all in, Ahhh yeah get ‘em riled up
Game over. Game over
It’s all this coke, it’s all that liq, it’s all the fame
It’s all been done, it’s all been fixed, it’s all the same
I got no time for games, lames, or dames
[Verse 2]
Time for some rearrangements
Take the Independent Railroad, we gonna get ‘em out the slave whips
Til they’re wireless and chainless
Are those the Faces of Death, or just stages of being famous?
It’s the monotone, monosyllabic, mono-stereo, solid zone cold static
Malachi York looper, stuck on Lucifer, Big Boss Koopa
Super Downloader Bros. down low
Until the suture opens, choke on hookah
Turn the cheek,and make a nuclear war head
Arm-legga-legga-arm-head-lock
Suicide smart bomb
I say my name “Mictlan” like an “X” in Islam
I got no time for games, lames, or dames
[Hook]
And if you’re sick of the world
Well I’m sick of the wording
And I could be sick of it all
But I’m just sick from the earling
If you don’t stick to wall
You better stick ‘em up early
If that ain’t stickin’ at all
Then just stick up the birdie
Like hush…
[Hook]
Rap Music