[Intro]

[Backmasked message]

[Verse 1: Gil Wrayson]

I'm going Patrick Bateman on the fucking spawn of Hell

Blood pressure less than zero like the bad part of Arendelle

I don't make brag raps, I only make nag raps

I can leave you stumped like I busted off your kneecaps

I wanna blow up like an easy Michael Bay joke

Bad boys wanna rock while I wanna provoke

One more year till I'm able to smoke

And be popular with bitches like Hopsin with blokes

Good day, family, came to roast me?

Or host me and boast me while toasting me with low key bullshit

Put me to sleep like Kevorkian practices

If you fuck with my friends, we go to the mattresses

Want aguilas, not buitres over my head

Put on a pedestal, get head from Jhene like the world could end

But for now, I'm just a rapper on the Genius forums

While all my fans are saying "Don't bore us, get to the chorus"

[Chorus: Gil Wrayson]

Everybody come together and work as a team

Everybody come together and work as a team

Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream

Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream

[Verse 2: Emperor Aguila (and his critics)]

Look, you ain't shit, ‘cause you rap on the internet

Why put yourself out there? Nobody has interest

Fuck it, got buckets of bars, yet nobody’s digging 'em

A nugget of wisdom, getting gold is a synonym

For impossibility, the probability of me

Going platinum is like Stupid Liz-ike’s ability

To find astatine combined with an alkaline metal

It’s crossing the line, balling like Kareem, toss me a medal

Wait, Aguila you don’t fucking deserve one

You're dope, but you aren’t making it, stop faking it

Shaking shit up like a Coca-Cola soda from the summer of 1886

Lady chicks sipping on it like a gin-and-tonic

The James Bond of lame songs, yet I have potential

Essentially underrated like the understated Bond’s games

In 2002, rousin’ you up like a home run

My microphone gun, I strike ya home, run

(Emp)

[Chorus: Emperor Aguila]

Everybody come together and work as a team (as a team)

Everybody come together and work as a team (as a team)

Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream (lucid dream)

Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream (na na)

[Verse 3: Gil Wrayson]

One, two, three strikes with the bat, what's a baseball?

See you next fall when I have it all, please hold your calls

And it's a holocaust in the halls with kids bawling their eyes out

Cause they did some stupid shit drinking a little too much stout

Oh wait, the subject escaped me, let me throw it back in its cage

If "High" is my one-hit, I'm fine that I went hard like Lady of Rage

On her one hit

I spit shit with quick wit that lifts you

Nitwits and twits to skip the Pandora pick

I'm flamboyant, Jareth on meth, Beth Sloane tried to abort me

And all these rap heads just wanna sort me

"He's a product of Tyler, Em, Cube, Bino, and Jay-Z"

Yeah, that's true, but how does that make me lazy?

"He stole his opinions from Todd, Rap Critic, and Mues"

I admit I worship them, and would gladly fill their pews

FLUUD and I are cleaning this rap game spill; we know the drill

But I won't be a fucking snitch like Meek Mill