| Yeah |
| We gonna do it just like the video man |
| One take |
| Ayy |
| Flow so vibrant |
| No code defines it |
| On my own island, my phone on silent |
| Overblown flyness, I overthrow the pilot |
| Tradition missin' like a pirate eye, you’d need a private eye to find it |
| My shit’s aligned with divinely designed shit |
| Rhyming is my natural environment, ayy |
| Still cold so the billfold thrivin' |
| Smoke fumes billow as a little psilocybin |
| Rekindles the drive to free my mind from confinement |
| Time unwinds akin to twine on a spindle |
| Spine tinglin' rhyme deliverin' is how my time’s spent |
| I defy you to devise shit that’s fly as I invent, ayy |
| Good grief, you can’t do it chief |
| Cold sweats from it, go get some damn flu relief |
| I just turned over a newer leaf |
| You get burned like you were keef or a skewer of beef |
| I’m a rare specimen |
| Ayy, check it out |
| Gun for hire for my peers under fire |
| Under pressure a la a brassiere’s underwire |
| Like you rotting in hell, you literally dead wrong |
| Like a cot in a cell, I’m criminally slept on |
| Give it to me, I kept going, my stamina’s impeccable |
| Amateurs are skeptical, they never went that extra extra decibel |
| That finally makes the ear drum pop |
| Similar sound to when that last straw’s dropped |
| On the top of that proverbial camel back |
| Cats can’t handle that |
| Pressure make 'em crack, break your grandma’s back |
| From me far cries, it’s hard to out-rap me |
| On my hard drive’s where the far out slaps be |
| Yes, I am ill when I get down |
| I am filled with the best sounds |
| Brian Wilson from Pet Sounds |
| Giant hilltop I step down from to get on level of man |
| Royally foilin' your devilish plan |
| 'Cause I’m a rare specimen |
| There’s just not a lot of 'em man |
| There’s a lot of rappers but there’s not a lot of rappers like me |
| And you know what man? |
| You know what? You can be like that too man |
| You can be the truest of snowflakes |
| It’s only one you, an individualized perfect crystallized |
| Whatever man |
| Check it out, yo |
| Used to be a wild motherfucker, now I’m more reserved |
| From the delivery service, I purchase and order herbs |
| Like they were hors d’oeuvre sandwiches with toothpicks and olives |
| My reputation for cleanliness matches Palmolive’s |
| I’m a solid source of fine rap, you know that |
| Oh snap, rewind that, blow your mind rap, I’m that |
| Your mic’s an item you should think about pawning |
| Your chick is now fawning 'cause I stick out like an awning |
| Bounce ideas off of me, I am surely one to improve 'em |
| Make you a quick mil' then say peace and keep it movin' |
| Pile thousands, loungin' on a hammock as it swings |
| While your chick brings little sandwiches and things |
| She be tellin' all her friends «I'm so enamored when he sings» |
| While my passive income’s steadily ching-ching-ching-ching-chings |
| While that fat lady bellows, I’ma be mellow relaxing |
| Gotta get some of that American dream |
| On the plate from which I’m eating |
| Oh, face it |
| The most high, been so gracious |
| Got friends in both high and low places |
| Wide loads to say, that’s why I’m loquacious |
| So graced with style that’s bodacious |
| You ever so tasteless |
| You’ll never know greatness |
| Your efforts are so basic |
| My clever flow is laced with evasiveness, ayy |
| I leave no traces |
| Shrouded in mystery like an episode of fucking Cold Cases |
| I swear I try not to be biased |
| But pinnacles of rap, I am on the fucking highest |
| A peak from which I drop that upper echelon science |
| Flat-Earther types get they worlds further flattened by it |
| People deny it staunchly, I say hate all you want |
| Your whole family I will taunt |
| Cousin, uncle, and aunt |
| I treat the game like it was an all you can eat restaurant |
| And then I lay back in my lawn chair, aw yeah |
| I’m a rare |
| It ain’t often you see |
| A bad motherfucker like me |
| I’m different, I’m gifted |
| I rip shit ridiculously, ayy |