[Verse 1: Duncecap]

Too many games, too many nights

Too many joints, too many fights

Too many plans, too many texts

Too many dates, too many sexts

Too many books, too many snacks

Too many songs, too many facts

Too much to know, too much to feel

I'm too fucking high, nothing is real

Demanding your full attention with each of your senses

Like a grounding exercise turned torture and relentless

Butterfly wings pinned down, framed, and admired

Brain on a stretching rack drawn and quartered for the buyer

Collectors making deals for parts, like

"I got doubles of this one" and "I got doubles of this"

Action figures standing tall but missing both their firsts

They're traceable and replaceablе

My boss said I was replaceable

You can lеave the city but the stress is inescapable

Too many drinks, too many thoughts

Too many tasks, too many jobs

You might see some progress if you're tenacious and you're capable

Too many acts, too many mouths

Too many ads, too many sounds

That doesn't mean your dreams are realistic or obtainable

Too many friends, too many meals

Too many shows, too much to heal

Too much to know, too much to feel

I'm too fucking high, nothing is real

Dunce

[Verse 2: Doseone]

Too many hot people

Too much unwavering uploaded evil

Too many entrepreneurial bigots

Too many bitch-ass wizards

There's a big difference between being a magical man

And just hiding small animals wherever you can

Nothing up my sleeve

A writer who don’t like to read

All output mouth mountain

Rounding them doubts down in clown town

And everyone feels nice in the ice of same sound

Different henchmen

Too many rigged religions

Too many relative prisons

Too many microchips dipped in milk

Wrapped in salaries silk

Shrunk sunk into pills

Given out free with your bills

Too many rappers run of the mill

I'm going deaf

Only so much listening left

So don’t fuck it up

'Cause I love turning off stuff

'Cause too many ducks

Too many everything everywhere always yet never enough

Too much narcissist circus

Pharmacist turn down service

Penny weight purpose

Burning earthiness

Oblivious phone drones in service

Too many tourists

[Verse 3: SKECH185]

Too many heartfelt hugs from masked actors

Gilded flashbacks of almost made it moments

Fastened to excuses chained to captions

Too many detachable identities splendidly dead on hills

A sky funeral for retractable revelations

Too much screen time for affable villains

Too many calls for relating

Too many plans wasted on tomorrows and faceless children

Too many "victims" building atop of mass graves with the right amount of abatement

"Royal families and rap battles for every drone" read the campaign

And too much salt on everything!

Battled the mirror until we both bled

Gained a clearer sense of self and setting

Too many fights left within that range

Strange futures

Too many calendars demanding change

Weathered veterans

Severed legacies, clever monologues on complacency

Too many MCs terrorized by city limits

The acidic living of lemmings

Too much flattening of culture for the comfort of the converted

"Speak American" they're chanting!

Pink slips perched on a folded flag

Too many songs written for folks who will never listen

Holding back is a private prison

Too many concessions

I refuse to die only proud of my credit score

Too many confessions

Too little edits