Arbuckle

Intro:

Yo, bro, you really doin' too much, you really doin' too much, you really doin' too much, yeah, yo

Verse 1:

The beat off, mic a program, Spalding pro slam
Don't send me beats or call me broke and
I got barrels of piss for members on the gold plan, pshhh
I been dead nights since hexxed on my BMX
Red line beneath an opium den in Shanghai
Choppin' beats
Blindfoldin' the cabana, swingin' Habana chef knives
Stuff a bannet's fulla dead vines, compact
Flow rappers since before Comcast own passwords
Loaths lone overgrown badger

Interlude:

- Nah, nah, nah, you've got? in coma too long, you know your business I ain't know my business, you know what you are, you're a butcher that can't cut meat, did you hear what I said to ya, so back off and stay outta my career, you ain't got no hoots better go in front of an audience and do-and do things, and you know what you are, you're boring!
- You couldn't size it 'cause you don't know Halland?, you don't know-you don't know nothin', how dare you get into my lifestyle when you don't know what you're talkin' about? A lotta people think he's great talent, a lotta people don't think he has got talent, do me a favor, understand English, go back to school, and learn about character!

Verse 2:

Yeah, man, yo huh, blood seeping through low thread count
Lightning and strobe red clouds, it stays my head bigger than dead mounds
Self-served super gas
Only time I ever rocked a backpack was 'cause I had a dead cat from battle rap (Ew)
I'm so smacked, I'm just a zombie that can rap
My crib once a retired pornstar sofa print
It's flames on the bakin' soda rigs
Fuckin' over this