Vultures

[Verse 1: Cas One]
They pickin' at the dead looking for some meat
Then they sittin’ at my table lookin' for a meal to eat
Similar scenes interweave to piece the puzzle back together
Motherfuckers think they're clever, but never been better
Than an image sittin' on burnin' bridges
Fishin' for some interest in it
But didn't fit the shoes they stole to look a little different, ah
Opportunity knocks you the fuck out
Big leaguer poppin' shit from the dug out
Watch 'em all run out, sad story to the bank
Motherfuckers my age got that teenage angst
Wrap it up and put a bow on top of rap music
And eat the rotting chest out of anything you do with it

[Verse 2: Bitter Stephens]
In the wasteland of vulture I sculpt another masterpiece
Gorilla knuckle drag across the street, through your smoke screen
Hypocritic cynicals that seem to be the centerpiece
Of everything that's left within me, still a bitter seed
Bragadocious blood suckers teeter-totter relevance
Money hungry fingers in the jar on some peasant shit
The elephant in the room is how elegant I can do this
Whenever the feather drops, you better be ready to say, “I knew this”
I walk atop the glass broken shards piercing boot heels
Chasin' every gimmick that's living off my food still
Motherfuckers recognize to rectify is past tense
Found your bag of lies and sliced it open with a match stick
Type to spark a topic just to start and plot some fiction
I never liked you anyways, you fit in where you got in, bitch

[Verse 3: Prolyphic]
Vultures circle the room sneaky seekin' easy pickins
Sleazy chickens with greasy fingerprints, it's a greedy business
Their greedy visions can't see the difference
Between the forest from the trees
Eye'n teens and the wheaties image
Preachy deliverance speedy writtens to the needy victims
Lickin' self-inflicted wounds that the TV gives 'em
Those rated-PG, beats be easy listenin' weak in systems
Speakin' isms to the teenies with no meaning in 'em
You kitschy poppy Ricky Bobby, pick a different hobby
Dick jockies rip copies who mimic Watsky
Wanna get ripped, strip the heart slip the artery
Tapped it for what it's worth like Bobby did to Whitney's body

[Verse 4: The Metermaids]
(Method actors practicin' how to convince they go H.A.M)
We like fuck it free ball it off the cuff no plans
While they were trying to alter their egos like they were Xal Xan
I picked the bones clean strung 'em up, and played a slow jam
Got the personna boner rockin' it coppin' a T-shirt
I'm a believer, sure as cops don't pocket the reefer
Under the table wait for scraps to fall from the fingers
I see you vultures top notch bottom feeders
Maybe it's time to let the heads flame-out like Bam Bam Biggalo
So get your hand out the cookie jar son
(Let me get it though)
Marketing plans can't make a band write some shit that's dope
Even playing the world’s smallest piccolo
(He ripped it bro)
I ride with six guns regardless of beats, rhymes, or cash flow
Same goes for Cas and Pro M stine Halo
Strange Famous ‘til the grave lays us in the dirt nap
And I still probably make the birds clap