Ladies and gentleman of the jury

I stand here today in front of you

In my humblest of robes

Yes, I’m humbled by those

Those of the humblest abodes

The cardboard box by the road

Housing that lost tortured soul

Who lies two tours deep, lies the dude, floor asleep, while the new doors close

This is not your average mixtape, y’all not that it’s anything special or anything, I mean, like it is, but it's just not your average mixtape, uhh, it's been four years in the making, I’ve done written this tape over like three times already, thrown it out every goddamn time until now, thrown out 30 plus tracks, I mean legit took the puns out of em, skinned them bitches, and deleted them, you ain’t never gonna hear them, kept the wordplay, i mean that’s what this project is about, wordplay, the vast majority of this tape is going to be wordplay, just puns and shit, so uhh, if you ain’t fuckin' with it, you can fuck off now, but uhh, without further ado, the sick shit he spews

I'm a-fat cat, knockin snapbacks off these aflacs

They steady duckin me, they buck and weave like grasshats

They steady bumpin me, they bump and leave, like past cats

9 lives, fine wine, mos-gato, have that

Oh damn, he done pitbulled it, he done passed rap

In the left lane, rollin papers, grass lap

Veering left saying holy prayers, last lap

Crashin into first place, nascar’in the Nasdaq

Spit so fucking hard, I waterfall, and still splash back

Shits so fuckin raw you ask the waiter for your cash back

Capital one, I'm in ya wallet, hands down, half past-six, shit, it's six forty five and we’re half mass

So let's set sail, let's get nailed, let's pass gas

Cuz meth-ain't nothin to ya teeth compared to brass tax

This right here, this right hand’ll smack your ass back, into next week, next year, past fast

Ramadan is over, so’s the last laugh

I'm fuckin having it, and I ain't ashed hash

In other words I'm burned out and on a mad dash, for the finish line, I finish mine if it's my last task

So take a half flask and pop it like a hatchback

I'm on my killer shit, ghost face, snapchat

I'm on my thriller shit, well, ghost face, that's that

Kill the mic, you ain't jack-son, just half bad

Been on the same two syllables for this last rap

Yet these pussies sleepin on him like a catnap

So phone a friend and let me know I'm spittin cash cab

And taking over all devices like black hat

Im spittin pounds bitch, thats fat, Im spitting dope shit, knapsack, shit im so sick, zantac

Yeah that’s it y’all, I wasn’t lying when I said this was mainly puns and shit, like thats really all I got

This tape is just 4 years of puns, like its so oversaturated with puns it almost doesn’t make sense, I think I did a good job of getting as close to that threshold as possible without tipping it, but if you ain’t fucking with wordplay, you can get the fuck off my tape, unplug yo god damn headphones if you ain’t gonna appreciate this shit, this took some goddamn work, umm, that’s it, maybe we just ride the beat out, shout out to Brizzy Bailey, Brizzy the Kid, whatever you wanna call him, made this dope beat, he’s dope, known him since 9th grade he ain’t changed one bit, real shit, I respect that, I respect this beat too though, so we just gonna ride it, kick back and enjoy, see where it takes us