lyrics:
drum work, running till my lungs hurt
best believe i’m aiming for the moon, make the sun burst
punching in while punchin motherfuckers into thumb dirt
i just want the cash to come fast and to come first
i spent a buck on a bottle and lost the lotto
so imma crack it over a skull and leave it a fossil
slide like legato, fly like a swallow
murder music, all the bullets sound staccato
heat of the moment, speakers choking, my speaker broken
mentally reloading, my pencil seeking an evil poem
i speak an omen, releasing demons, i feel em slowly
peeking through the window, my microphone is an evil totem
i spit so much a fraction of it is perceived an ocean
i’ve learned that freedom deceives you, it only leaves you lonesome
you was never told that growing up, you couldn’t really hold the weight
so as your mind matured, your body turning weak and frozen
the revelation came too late for you to grapple with it
you’d already dug yourself so deep when the ladder hit ya
you built upon a foundation, you never saw it crackin
till it crumbled like a human when hit with an automatic
i’m tryna make out the static, out the white noise
with that comes the pressure of am i making the right choice?
information highway, reactionary traffic jam
make the music my way, then transfer to a Dapper Dan
i can’t take a risk cause what if stable life is wasted?
i can’t stick to safety cause i know nothing is sacred
i can’t take it serious cause people live off dumb luck
so i’ll just make my braggadocious shit and shut the fuck up
i was never interested in putting on the fraud’s crown
that’s why never in my life will i appeal to pop sounds
i just got stuck in a place where money trees were chopped down
so every song from me is equivalent to a glock round
one hand grips the mic, the other grips my phone
adjust the frequency so that the snare could split a brittle bone
i spit a flow that rips a hole through any myth you’ve told
everyone who tried to doubt my talent was dismissing gold
my worst raps were better than your best styles
my first raps will be better than your next styles
swervin on the road to the top, this just the next mile
we simply cut and woven from two different textiles
you want the throne but you ain’t ready for the tribulations
every picture i paint is sick, my songs are illustrations
figurative is an icon, end quote
i’m like mach-hommy mixed with flygod, i been dope
this gon be the joint that all the fans wished was 5 minutes
sorry but that ain’t how i like to have my style presented
i hit you with idea after idea
plus i say exactly what you’re thinking like a mind reader

(chopped Kendrick outro unable to be transcribed)