Leave dudes bruised blacker than some ash bud

The Wayniac is back mark your calendars and Macbooks

Roll your Backwoods, if you can’t find ‘em

Take a slab of wood and roll it on the green like Woods would

Could chuck hoods what could fuck the game up

A mad tight wunderkind with lines on his pay cuts

And mind on the paper, he fold it into planes

Hitting lames in their eye, start crying about his name

Yeah I’m Jonwayne the same motherfucker

With the tendency to shoot and throw faces in the gutter

Gun slinging shingle-sick with wits of an Einstein

With enough wake up lines to cure the blind

I know my Daddy had a great sense of humor

Had me back tracked rap now I’m clapping to his view cause

I got girls swinging with their hips like it’s a hula

I still keep spitting when I’m fitted with a tumor

I used to start ciphers like bitches start rumors

But now I sit back and let some other rapper’s crew cut

You know my voice on these beats is straight shrooming

And the style’s still blooming, make the psychedelic music

I’m on the street with a pocket full of tunes

Sounding like relics and runes digitized for the boom

Beats with the bass for the size of the room

With enough bars to find the golden ticket

It’s wicked when I flip it in my vision

A third eye incision

My mind’s on the fritz getting crazy when I kick it

The only way that I can fall asleep is when you shit it

Your show’s looking like a night of the dead living

I ain’t kidding, you said you get in where you fit in

But you ain’t gonna get it when you fit it in a trashcan

Slammed by your peers as just another man

Who can rap a couple couplets but ducking on the ruckus

You better get it together you wack motherfucker