Untitled

[Intro]
The intelligence level is reduced a bit

[Verse]
I feel like the world don't like me
I just don't get it, like if you wanna fight me, then fight me
A Spike Lee joint to wear the rest of the day down
There ain't no point to lay round lounging
When eight pounds of K rounds stay in your draws hiding
I can feel angels and devils fighting
Biting, and crying out for me to stop hyping up an EP
That ain't likely to hit the charts
Like pop tarts, and Trojan biremes
That didn't make sense did it
I can't find the rest of my brain, someone must have hid it
And I'm on you like the Chronicles of Riddick
Daniel Lim is getting diminished
Somebody please tell Emily Devine she still classifies as a preteen
So please go back to preschool reading
While I keep playing with all this dough, kneading
She won't hear this, so it's fine for that to be leaking
Three spleens I cut out of myself, easily
Sellin' free lean with green beans
And running with Gabbie, and Hardeep
Obviously, I'm sorry if it hurts
For you to get down, beat down more than Captain Kirk
Alert, alert
A butthurt feminist I reminisce about
She blocked me
Whatever
But now I'm done with that
Hop out my flat
A lumberjack takin' me to Rumba Rapids
They love to talk all that bologna
So what happens when I get on ya
And tell 'em all that Alex really wants to get off with
Tanya
Rollin' round in a three-wheeler, with an orange peeler
Hopin' to see my dealer, his name is Peter, he's a healer
So I speak with him about the time Shun never made a move on Marina
'Cause it kinda reminds of the time I tried to move to Sh-
Never mind
That doesn't really matter
The fact is the stacks is getting fatter and fatter
I batter and batter, your face so pale, you start to look like the Mad Hatter
I won't bait you out, but I'm talkin' to you
Ain't nobody been whacker
I knock you out 'til your skull shatters
And scatters all of your brain matter on the Vatican floor
Here, take these donations, you'll need 'em for child support
I go acapella, I don't need a beat's support
A Ouija board mixed with C Minor chords leaves a different taste
Like cranberry sauce
I'm happy to stick a fork in the neck of Jasper Gaunt
I'm just too raw
I'm bound to cause frowns, 'til I hang myself upside-down with a phoneless cord
No support comes to you when I'm hunting you down
Like a god damn Liam Neeson story