[I: Judge]

The 25,8 square root villain

Barefoot chillin’ in a drop top ride

No socks, no ceilings

Sky be my limit, with a footnote in it

Reading “if we make it past, I can rest one minute”

I’m my own worst critic, even I can understand

That not a single little shit can mimic, you should admit it (yah!)

Got no gimmicks off the index, you an echo

Estoy fresco, know my style retro, got that

Jean jacket elegance

Umbrella could be denim as well, I gel well with the elements

Young rebels in the gamе like veterans

I show up likе it’s always been my home, puff, gone with no evidence

Stay high, lie low like the Netherlands

Never land if it ain’t Neverland, hold it there, hello?

(Eyo, what’s up? If your schedule ain’t too tight

Party goin’ down, my place, tonight, we got it all)

Juice, jay, et cetera

Memories of last weekend, lotta wild shit on my retina

Tempted for a moment then I’m tapped on the shoulder

By that melody never created last hangover (sober)

Call you back, homie, I’ll be at the next

Hang up, check my missed calls list by reflex

I think she mad at my lack of responding to her

Guess sometimes it’s lyric before text, Q

[II: Jury]

The studio over sex, a clean mix over drinks

A final touch over resting

Distracted by the zeitgist, times are testing

But I draw outside the lines ‘til I see a clear sign of progressing

Put it all on the line, I’ll sacrifice it for a shot

At everything that I want, everything that I got

Exception exactly one

Never myself

You’ll never see a price on my soul, it’s not on the shelf

I’ll say it just as loud as I need, never forget

A selling of the seller is a deal to regret

Some are willing to limit their own heads just to fit the crowns

And some go in a higher gear than the box allows

[III: Executioner]

Bitch, I’m the judge, jury and executioner

Writer, rapper, producer

This one goes out to the equipment abusers

I spit into a battered 57, filter on sale

Sail’ on the mic

Tyson motherfuckers to the guard rail, that’s a

Hard tale for a soft ass kid

I contain more than I could ever fit on the lid

Let the grind toughen your skin, but never seep in

So that the mind loses its color, keep using your spin

To propel

See, you could win a race an empty shell

Chop the doors off, jettison the seat with the smell

It’s all well when the crowd’s out praising the victor

And that includes you too, ‘cause now you’re out of the picture

You thought it was you, the baller on the charts, in the news

You used to be him, used to walk inside his hype-ass shoes

Always center of attention, he’s the king of the hill

You played him but they never noticed when the actor was killed

The author cashin’ the bill, he’s the executive producer

The label owner, the A&R in charge of your future

All of the fuckers making cheese off your shit

Convinced you that there was no reason to quit

Until you’re nothing but a Theseus ship

They ripped the ugly parts out, turned the rest to a character

Edges all smoothed over and pushed inside of a canister

You were in on it, but now you’ve grown

And what you thought you had control of got a mind of its own

Whether you wanna wield weapons or you’re kind to the bone

Be next to Kendrick and Staples, or flexin’ on ‘em like Malone

It’s your own choice, nobody can point you to your zone

But make sure that it’s your own ass mounting the throne, watch it

The profit, slippin’ through your fingers if you never lock it

Chain it to your brain, not in anybody’s pocket

Running outta time but that boy on to something, next shit

Juvenile jumpman, exit