[prod. by mr. master]

[verse 1: mr. master]

(burp)

2029 flow in 2019

No more glasses with the eyeholes

Where zeros might be

Stretchin’ out the waist of some oversized jeans

While I'm stretchin’ out her waist if you know what I mean

3039 flow had Amy like gleesh

Fortune cookie list of thanks for my Emmy night speech

Finally started sellin’ my own line of white tees

For seven-hundred ninety-nine each. Singin’

I might die if I hear one more canned laugh on my TV

Like I can't make a studio audience piss themselves

Late night on NBC (nbc chimes)

And everybody 'round my spot wanna jock my steez

So they rap like this and make beats like these

Thinkin’ any other rapper that be soundin’ like me

Would be on the same stage but that's unlikely

Lights please. Roll, speed. Bird's POV

Oh yes. No less than the G O D

Dime piece. Soft speak. So Kilo Kish, but she a cat for the Doja

Matamoney bloviate the bang, now I blow up

Marathon run through so many bands 'til I throw up

Withdraw my account so much, my assets done froze up

Live and never die in Neverland, never grow up

They all wanna go but

The boys all think that the girls all suck

And the girls all think that the boys wann’ f-

But the kettle's called black and the bets're called bluffs

And the third party's like what

And shoutout all the rappers who eat with rhinestone teeth

They do not want me around

But all the kids that's picked last in sports gon’ salute my shorts

Until it's torts all the way down

Ooh baby, it's a keg

Axe o’ Annie Wilkes'll turn a leg into a peg

And cheating isn't cheating if it's Chegg. On PEDs

Best that they could do was all yellows, all reds

Close but no Benson and Hedge

Oh my god. I'm a neutron with a coupon. No charge

Had the tax man do a CAT scan and he just found more bars

I can take a Bird down Santa Monica

And take a Space-X up to Mars

Now where the hell is my self-flying car?!

Somebody yellin' fire in a crowded theater

I don't know who it was but it was loud and clear

The girlies love me like dolce lattes

'Cause I got more rhymes than Gabor Maté

Bring the bass to your face. The party to your place

Got the uno, the dos. Now get a load of this tres

On record one time, just had to say:

There’d be no mr. master without MCA!

[outro: adam yauch]

Two ninety eight oh one six five three Sierra Vista

It's a party, I've seen the chicks