[Verse 1: Jonwayne]

It's the Wayniac, part-time brainiac

Part-time play me that beat right there

And I'mma take it back

To the magical rhymes for dollar signs

Your homies sittin back at the lab creating enzymes

Glad something came out of piles of dead mice

It's the nicest who be carrying more than the virus

It don't step or become one of my vices

An example of why 25 to life is the price that you pay

For a life in dismay

I mic what I say, then I site what I play

Since the days of a tike on a trike

I light one every time I find a beat that I don't like

And then I write to it in spite the bubblers and light bulbs

It's my cup of tea when the team's overseein me, you feel me?

My mob mentality instills me to write somebody's will

But never I get to kill it lord willing

I stay up in your mouth like a filling yall

They're just broke in the back, like Jake Gyllenhall

They can't carry that metaphysical weight

And think that physical weight can see 'em into the wake

Well that's great, but I ain't talkin' about murder

This shit is far worse, something you never heard'a

Cause if you did, then you wouldn't be hearing me

Just tearing on the floor screaming "oh god the tyranny!"

I know insanity wasn't part of the plan

But maybe then you can understand who I am, man

And where I'm coming from

The depths of the stem hem together

So the eggs can't be coming out the chicken hens

Cattle prodding, I'm high up on the saddle kid

So pick the man that you wanna be doing battle with

The wits of a mister never founded on his kisser

It's straight up in the eyes cause he could be telling lies like a child do

Throwing on a smile for you

Never knew he wore it last week on the way to school

But let me sit him down, now he looking like a

Clown head shifting on the cloud, bled stricken with the round-house

Kick, the thought of you is making me sick

Call the doctor, I'm bed ridden spittin' this shit

Chewing on a thermometer man I'm hot up in this bitch

Or is it I got you sweating underneath your fitted?

I'm gifted, Santa Claus carries me for Christmas

That is cause your bitch be putting me on the wish list

Well you can check it, I'm here to clean the messes

You're dealing with the bestest

With no one to impress cause I'm spitting that asbestos

That's why my genre mutates

Sometimes I'm feeling big enough to have two fates

You're too late for two-taking

You try to see the sunny-side up brotha

Laying next to two strips of bacon

I'm flying higher than my boy if he high sky diving

Rhyming on the way down over some dick climbing

I stick spies even trade demises with some sick guys

If they oblige the size of the opposition's side

Fuck

Dibiase's on the beat