Y'all don’t really want no part of this

The bars hit like parking cars in apartments

Darken the mark and embark on a journey

You bark and depart on a gurney

Call your attorney, give a guy a ring

Carry a tune, the canary'll sing

Bury the goons ‘till the king turn queen

And he gets confused with Ariel Pink

Hair in a sink- Balling ‘em up

I'd get a CD if y’all didn't suck

And if I wanted to hear that same exact trap beat again

Not content with uneventful, dense in the mental cunts pretending to be men

I contend with meddling mind-state

Riding a grey line in the middle of a rhyme and a pen

I will extend a Midas touch

Golden son, stylish fuck

Rhyme-galloping, high-caliber upper-classman

It's the upper-echelon

Get your tanks and bombs, bombs and guns

You little zombies oughta blast him

But never that, Jack- Actually half of these backpack rappers are raggedy

After we battle I'm bagging ‘em up and I'm stashing the bag in a beat up V-Dub trunk

I can see the dumb fucks coming in swarms tryina test it

I'm leaving ‘em black and blue- Crack a tooth with my erection

Checkmate

Check on your girl when the best in the green state flex on the world

Y'all don't really know what you’re doing do ya’?

Make a move and I'ma take it to ya’

Next day

You're gonna wanna curl in ball and die, I'm making ‘em hurl

Covered in bruises, tryina lose him

Hide your booze and hire the movers

Loser

Get your face the fuck up out my section

‘Fore I take your dame to lover's lane and get a brain inspection

Cute words said will never usher a response

If these anvils ain’t enough, I'm dropping bombs