Wormwood Dream

Intro:

- They like your music, by the way
- They never heard my music
- Well you think about music, don't you?
- All the time
- Well, they hear it, and they like your music
- Haha, well, hahaha
- So do I, I like your music

Verse 1:

Yeah, yo, ayo, tightin' hoodies up, yo
I got my eyes on the street like the outcome, of a suicide leap
In Dubai off the tallest building's peak
Precise like diagonal cuts, knife anglin' touch sky
Spangle with Gemstar, cut triangle in
I find you futile when the streams come in (Woah)
Often my rap is a waste of time, I'm rhymin' these words that mean nothing
Craft older, earth tone in stone, wood, iron and boulders
Channel like culverts
I'm not married to logic (nah), my art engulfed its own tale to its shoulders
Planet destroyer, countertop galaxy roster
A mad pretzel brain on this gas, jet fuel strain
Clip you like I'm nice with the buzzers, van axel jape
Off three though, bars stolen, Toledo
No vino, mad blow, off the ropes, no chino
Huffin' E-cole, marine coke
Put the plant in the fluid, not mojito, practice like Creole
Was at the Moore with quitters, 8-Balls and jitters
Piss vinegar, gollen? bitter, who they call it spitters
I prep 'em off for dinner, salt and livers

Psych-Out (1968) Interlude:

- The acid has curdled and turned you sour, it's real good to see you in the daylight though, I know you just crawled out of your hole to save my soul
- All the games have to go, man, 'cause it's all one big plastic hassle
- So live in a jelly jar?
- The rest is in ya head

Verse 2:

It was white owls before Duchess were out, nothing was loud
School staircases, PLO style, puffin' the cow
I rode the white buffalo in, bust the whole zip
On a tucker hold trip, smoke up the whole boat lift
This part of the song isn't about me but I'm high right now (Nah, man)
I just spit raps, and bring the hive right down (Word)
Peace to White Plains, and the connectin' branchhorse?
To Hogwarts (yo!), on the Concourse, smokin' concord (Hahaha)
In the clock flock horn
Brain leakin' what looks like, a thousand islands, but not Rockport (Hmm, peace)
What I wrote down it's weak (wow), in the house down the creek
My sound ooze out the speaker and slither in the mouths asleep
About to leave this EP on that note (What)
Before winter turns the East Coast into an antarctic plateau
I'm out, keep eyes open