Used to rock a fitted but my head grew

Back when I was young like egg foo

I thought life would be simple

Then I learned that there were rules for how to hold a utensil

Same goes for pencils

I made a mental note that those rules weren’t essential

But now when I eat or write I seem provincial

And I don’t give a fuck, not even a little

Used to rock a snapback flat brim

You think I’m wack now? You shoulda seen me back then

I’ll make a blanket statement: I love afghans

Art today is one of two things: fire or trash can

And that’s the dichotomy of quality

Hieroglyphic etymology review policy, yo

I used to just assume honesty

That theory didn’t age well—Ptolemy

I’m not opposed to plastic bag bans

But my stash is getting low for the bathroom trash can

I get Q-Tips stuck at the bottom with no bag

Speaking of which, what’s with the social contract

In which the Q-Tip brands claim that they’re not for ears

Yet that’s what everybody buys em for? It’s fucking weird

I digress. Less concerned with earning critical acclaim

Than getting people to remember there’s no space in my rap name, yo

It’s no space, no space

Don’t forget the capital NAH

Lowercase r if you wanna get technical

I’ma keep rapping till i’m dead or a vegetable

No space, no space

Don’t forget the capital NAH

Lowercase r if you wanna get technical

I’ma keep rapping till I’m dead