[Verse 1]

This rhyme's coming to you over state lines

Providing chronicles that ain't mine

But I'm contextual when telling stories through grapevines

Same time, they clutching pearls hearing my livestream

Feeling like fuck the world but I guess it might be a pipe dream

On the road to success, and I'm sightseeing might need an amateur rapper to put in my snipe beam

Likely, you're falling off like it's leprosy

Expect to see me in hindsight that ain't right and will never be

Specially cause I'm set to be next to the legends

The rest rapper from gen-z Spectre be

Giving simple Simon rhyming MC a rectal hysterectomy

Longevity, wonder how long they check for me

My legacy, won't be the guy that do the voices

Sounds to me, like if I died, you'd do rejoices

Can't reform them

[Verse 2]

If you rappers are here to stay

Best take off your boots and check in

Finna step in the game and threaten them with this weapon

Had the jooks to pose

A question: "How he spit the cold fire?"

The treasure's mired when surgical assessments leave perspectives expired

Open the chest and he get his fix

The road to destiny is devastated by the devil's bricks

Know that ima face it head on like a treble space

On my momma's couch bumping reggae playlists

Fibbing if I said I was raised around hip-hop

Just started listening and mixing last year, now I'm a master here

The rap prodigy, natural-born author

Split like NAFTA when he passed the blower and shot ya

Now, who's the real cops, killers, and klan's-men

When niggas in the hoods got their own hoods in shambles

Strange knaves, you can't reform them