I’m a nerd from the burbs named after a bird
bout to get the worm. I’m the rapper of words.
It don’t matter if I’m the worst.
I ride rowdy rhythm after I flip you a bird
and I burp in the flame of your fame and watch it flicker.
My song’s on your Mac like a sticker.
I stick to the back of your head.
Hit harder than a stick to the back of your head.
Got a head of getting head, thoughts headed downtown
to write songs that someday you’ll have read and found.
Don’t sweat my sound. I’m better now than ever.
Career’s pulling miracles. Kronk pull the lever.
I wreck the rhetoric it’s been said.
Objectify the subject and fuck the predicate instead.
Got fed up of white bros from Connecticut. Or anywhere in NE
where many, many men be. Maybe meant to shut the fuck up.
Now I take connections on my Megabus
and eat ballads like salads of just lettuce.
I used to think better them than us. But
I connect dots like Connect 4, bruh,
connect four fours with the force of a tour bus.
Forge wars over words worse than warlord orphans
misinformed over fraud merchants.
I believe there’s something missing from your person.
I believe it’s your soul. I believe it’s been sold
for the price of a bag of Rold’s Gold that’s been spoiled.
I’m a stone’s throw away from striking fool’s gold.
But paint the bull gold, it’s still gonna make bull shit.
That beef bulgogi’s still gonna make you sick.
All your homies just think that they are Brad Pitt
on the cover of Fight Club. Now ain’t that some shit.

I’m not saying you’re a lie. I’m not saying I’m the truth.
But I know one of these things is true. Don’t you know?

I’m an artist. I’m a Taurus. Ready to snap like a tourist.
Always win the race like a tortoise and slice a fuckboy like an orange.
Nothing rhymes with orange. That’s only if you’re boring.
Can I borrow endorphins till I’m swimming like a dolphin?
More morsels of myself for you mice might
get me some teenage listeners. Siiike.
Psychic, the sidekick who might kill a cypher
like science of violence. Engines and sirens
are going off ringing and singing in silence.
Invisible violins, concerto of muerte.
Moreover my worst day’s better than your birthday
so you can vacate with your naysay. I don’t wanna hear a
single Q & A. Can I get a ay ay?
I should go to A.A. today for three days or four days
but moral of the story is today ain’t your day.
Throw up your hands like “what’s it all for” day
Don’t make me Wu-Tang, now it’s swinging swords day.
Have it your way. The duel is on. You lose your arm,
your friends, your cousins, your dad, your dog, your aunt.
I’m on a roll with monologue. I ate your soul like kids nibble little ants on a log.

I’m not saying you’re a lie. I’m not saying I’m the truth.
But I know one these things is true. Don’t you know?
I’m not saying I’m a lie. I’m not saying I’m the truth.
But I know one these things is true. Don’t you know?