I gets busy, these pricks want me hit quickly

Spit sickly, sit swiftly, this Bic splits bricks nifty

It’s killing season, friend, they tryna con my reasoning

Harmless, feeble men ‘bout as potent as Ramen seasoning

I’m the only God you should be believing in

‘Cuz I promise evolution with each creation penned

I cremate CREAM like I don’t need the ends

Leaving plates clean, ‘cuz I’m feeding through my pen

I’ve seen too many faces on a select few

When everyone’s playing a role – except you

But when you’re in the credits, they learn to accept you

If it’s James Lipton recognition, fuck if they respect you

Unless you, think less of the revenue

When it gets the best of you, fuck what your Rev will do

I take the pen, befriend paths opposite of right hands

Fighting sightless minds tryna spite him, my plight’s grin

And I might sin, I’m mighty when that action’s likely

I’m screaming FUCK THE WORLD nightly

Don’t own a gun, ‘cuz I might squeeze

Precisely, type or write these rhymes

Shinin’ light on what I MIGHT mean

So everything’s where it might be, nothing’s concrete

Firebomb streets, Lebanon livin’ with the ledge I’m on

Suicide peak, even at my peak

It’s deep, there ain’t a Halo in my Reach

[Interlude]

Antisocial, tryna leave NO clue

Y’all know the rest, just leave it on the Pro Tools

[Verse 2]

The booth is in a sniper’s scope

It’s likely you will overdose, on a portion of my quotes

I’m writing ‘til I’m lifeless, though

I’m kind of like an isotope, itching for a Homer

Honed to be a shell of former self, became a loner

You could move my words on corner, better yet curbside

Stage mourners when I’m the performer

You haven’t heard why?

Word I’m, the result of maggot metamorphosis

Fly like, Warren Worthington’s recording this

But an opposite occupation

Got the populous probly waitin’

For Pac to pop in and say this:

“I’m still alive, but my memory is so degraded”

Think about it all the time, I just don’t display it

Not on my mind, faggots on facebook hatin’

They heard a couple J Cole songs, now they’re authority

Angers too disorderly, I gotta act accordingly

So here’s a message to those preachin’ for opinions

Run your mouth enough and the meaning goes missing

I got a drama addiction, draw up my conviction

And make sure all castrated critics sit and listen

I’ve had worse fights, they ignore whatever’s more to him

These words ARE life, like this instrumental’s origin

Hoping this the second time it leaves Em breathless

Proof did it first, but now the proof leaves my chest gripped

I fall through intentionally, notice loose floorboards

I live in tension see, cuz the haters can’t afford more

Than me trippin’, I swear they haven’t listened

I wear the Bull on my chest like Scottie Pippen

[Interlude]

Antisocial, tryna leave NO clue

Y’all know the rest, just leave it on the Pro Tools