I may not be a Harvard student, but I'm far from stupid. If I'm foolish, I'm part Confucius. My heart confuses my art improving as losing the spark, and though part true, Who's fault is it if I stoop to make party music? Aren't you--
the person to blame? Never curse in your verses, you think you perfect? A saint? You think them big words can make the average person relate? You think you in church when people who've heard don't even pray!?...See, these mirror debates
Make everything clearer. Wait. Back to that first statement I stated. With wordplay, you can paint a picture, we in the game, the label's the pitcher, and they love to curve plates so you never eat unless you can swing or reverse place.
But even if you bat 3 hunna, runner of diamonds, or do pop rock, sling soda, your thirst waits. I seen those that ain't chosen learn to make a hit, they walk you like a dog, and send you to first base.

I'm far from the underground. It's unimpressive when you run your mouth. Two words: battle me. Not another sound. Cuz everybody thinks they're better, but none of you sell records. Your fans are fair weather. Now cut it out.
I smoked all you. 1700 emcees against me refereed by Funk Volume. But you see don't me argue who's who, so with all due respect, 95% I won't even talk to.
That's just me on my hunger and cold, though. At my table, everybody too short. Yall ain't touching the flow, so. Wait. I'm doing what I hear yall do. That's a no go.. It hit ya quicker and like liquor, I'm going in SOLO.
My expectations are so low! I mean, what did we ever do with ourselves 'before they invented YOLO? Dig to hell, or sit and wait for a preacher, depleting the ozone layer til they saying it's NO MO?
This the chorus, but I lost control around the time I visualized the loss of souls, dying by the po po. You be tossing gold, but you're so broke. Feeling lost at home, crossing domes with a .44,
Flossing stones, in apartments, roam with a hobo. Coffins sown, cuz he offed his own for the lo lo. Big up to stick up like pogos. And in the midst of this, I'm supposed to care about dissing Kendrick Lamar's Control? NO.

Before I pedal to who's better than who, allow a few seconds addressing elephants in the room. Don't question why I'm correcting the message that he produced, if you do, I'm betting even more irrelevant is you.
He started the conversation. I spit to harness the greatness and carve a place for your carcass to get your argument straight.
If appalling is how you take it, I'm coughing all in your face; cuz I'm sick of you talking. This is me hocking spit on your grave.
I guess maybe yall can relate to him calling yall a disgrace, you run the city? But really I see many jogging in place.
I was already spitting flames, they put ethanol in my drank. I could never fall, I'm belonging with Megatron up in space .
A decepticon with a blade vs a leprechaun with a fade. I'm upper echelon. And you suckers better off on a plank..
I've waited long for this day. I pray while tossing grenades, launching missiles, AKs, pistols, finished off with a flame--thrower
Hold him in place. Oh no! No hope for escape! I was close to keeping it ghost. With a Holy sheet for display.
Yea. And you CAN run la. Be the king of new York, but I'm never bowing. Proud to be donned the prince of Detroit. Joe Ortiz told him he was the next thing on his fork. But in the 313, you aint even reaching our porch.