TSUTOMU MIYAZAKI

Verse I:

Yo, story time, yo, inhalin' alkalines, I'm on top of an alpine mountain sight
In a house of mine, I once stared at the sun for so long my entire body calcified
Recorded this as a ghost of a rapper, who crawled underneath the couch to die
Homicides is sloppy, up in rehab with fans that had to sign some copies (Woah)
These conveyor belt rappers just get in line and copy
I'mma eat these kids like Ratman Miyazaki
Writin' Grimoirs I'm Austin, Aspen spared
I got a blot to tear, my locker bare
My pockets is lint piеces pot in notch o' hair
Animated hurdlin' Heavеns to Fox and Hare
Blood o' Sinatra, Still Cambodian this a 'Nam one
The livin' aborted mom's son
I hate rappers 'cause I'm one (Fuck that)
Beats then washed up, unleash the Sun day I'm burnin' pine blunts
What? Yeah, yeah, ayo, yo, yo

Verse II:

Who want Henny? I'm all out (Word)
I got self-doubt, hate, absorption, misery and envy
Gold diggers found buried, shallow, wrapped in Fendi
Get ready, I'm about to make failure trendy
Brick weed splashed in dusters, no longer Reggie
Heavy, barrel to my temple I'm heavy
This shit is blunt dope, Skinny Behemoth
I'm the Devil Flacko, batshit spit iguano
Monster bars ramble at Mount Fuji
Like they from Lagos, this shit sucks
Luigi off the shrooms holdin' bricks crushed
I once had my wrist cuffed
Caught up liquid Syd during a stick-up
I spit up, fire volcanic hiccups
Get your church hit up
While I'm smilin' like the Devil gettin' his dick sucked

Verse III:

Spittin' like Brit dryers, smokin' piff
Openin' a ladder on a skyscraper tryna get higher
Dish gloves grip wires, I rip flyers
I'm a young Drew Barrymore, the Kid Fire
Blood on my bowtie, put your bovines
Willy Wonka boat ride, this whole time
True, dyin' religion
I came out the pouch, bloody, cryin' and hissin'
Bitin' and spittin', bile in liquids drippin'
Like a dead body dyin' and pissin'
Bring down the Heavens and curse the livin'
Livid, Cross Fitness
I've ran through Olympus jugglin', Hellsix fire ringlets
Angel fallen, with smokin' wings hips
Bad spells left in riddance
Beats wells off inlets, halitosis in wind shifts
You can smell the rot comin' from all the heads on sticks
At a distance, the metal stone ash in crimson

Outro:

- The Junior High prom dance... He gonna make it real awkward!
- That's exactly how he danced!
- You have to have a certain amount of distance between the bodies in Junior High...
- Yes exactly! Yes like they say in Catholic school "leave room for the Holy Ghost..."