it's the hot and bothered back batched in problems and offerings blunts pass when operas sing modern day in pollens spring he's allergic but his service churns lobotomies blowing brains from stopping these awkward teens from coppin tee's. that was me back asking momma for preme caps geez, whack. stealing yo hero's dolla her green back perceive that, collecting raps in a synthesis cited all my sources i'm hitting tours when i finish this!

end of the world gettin the girl favorite movie and favorite pair of shoes see? my emcee skills are a screenplay, starting and ending whenever we say, replay screams say mean stuff, roll in the spot with your favorite bag of preme stuff. i'm sick of spitting i'm sick of bitten shit and constrictions like audacity rolling swift with a fallacy, used to crash and se, homies better at balancing than me, I'm bent see. drones overthrow me, growing slowly my nimble fingers wrapped in goat fat stacks and slabs of meat contract the bros hat hungry stuntin, no one told these niggas stop frontin, no one told them start frontin either with their white hot sneakers, clean scept the blood of the leakers leaking features of cops croppin heat sir, stop moppin streets sir, i'm beggin cause heavens full of brethren. I don't know who asked me how my shoes fit, I just know that now they feel like tooth picks, confused shit convulses pulses this hate in me no i'm feeling crazed in this lame racist insane city. my eyes bleed violence, laps back rappin his lips are making him silent. kind kids inside hit lights leaving him open to, nice minds fighting but finally stopping the vocal que. A hairy laughing sack of nothing asked me: "how you get the curses lifting verses churned in laughing?" I said: "Well, LAPS is someone that I made entrapped in, a heart shaped box that I shoved up under my ass and, Started writing raps in a book feeling dope and shit, Now I got to emo shows where I do the opening!" "oh," he said feeling conflicted: "Thats cool and all but when you cooking tracks up in the kitchen do you really think of spinning them while opening for crickets who be chirping on their open tuning screaming what they feeling?" "Nah, I think of crowds of hip hop heads bouncing to my 808 kick feeling locked in. Scrobble my hot shit, thats what they all say waiting for you focusing on dope spits in the hallway no bitches in songs, hey! watch your vocabulary shit can still be hot without offending every capillary in every human they all be feeling confused and, should they get a pass because they rappin and producing, should they really spit about women as if they useless or should they get their teeth knocked in for spiting like losers?"

A sweet ballad I heard ringing in my arms and my back pocket,