Number 4

-Torso
Shoot up the award show
Bom bibom bibom bibom bom
Bom bibom bibom bibom, yeah
The last stragglers
On their head like Mad Hatters
Abstract era, bullies to you backpackers
Going crazy, detoxin' at the Nutcracker
Flexible bitch, she let me fuck backwards
What matters?
Land of the blunt passers
And of the drug dealers
Unreal
Rollin' up ether in the cornmeal
Stand behind a force-field
Raps are unlimited
It's not definitive
Infinite arithmetic

Yeah
I'm a victim of the IQ
Written in a haiku
Gеttin' head in high school
I nut before thе final
This the type of shit only sound good on vinyl
Prostitute women writin' letters to the bible
Old Jewish go through the old newish blockbuster
She want your money, do not trust her
Bom bibom bibom bibom bom
Bom bibom bibom bibom, yeah
This some make-believe
Stuntin' in a babyseat
Windows down, my mom turn on the Amerie
The cocaine is cut with laxatives
Rollin' up adjectives, smoking with 'em