Rockin fly, but novel shit Sippin doppelock out the goblet The chain knocks the table with the obelisk charm that dangles Durag atop his tangled tresses Deranged aesthetic's represented when he dress impressive Ornately vested in the freshest fabrics Is it flexin or expression? He's so enigmatic The Mad Maverick, Leave the haberdasher with a hat trick Attracting questions bout his spending habits Cringe at his purchases He sees their worth, they think it's purposeless They see hyperbole The silky shirt with green and purple sleeves Does not deserve to be obtained for such absurdist fees of currency But their worries serve as no deterrent He's the dapper dandy who keeps his closet current Not a slave to trends More a connoisseur who's honest in his hobby Unafraied to spend on peices that are gaudy The best threads adorn his mrtal body He's just a man, but in the mirror he looks godly

All my fingers smell like garlic I've got chapstick in my pocket Told my homie she could park it in the grass behind the Target And she ashed it in the carpet Now, her car smells like my friend's apartment I don't think he got back his deposit when he moved to Arkansas He was tryna see what else there was outside the scene I read on twitter 2012 he voted green I ate so much tofu tonight I might open at the seams But that don't mean your bro won't hit the stove and cook some rice and beans I might rock my nicest jeans to go to Target Friday night But open up the button fly cause right now they fit kinda tight That tempura hit me right made me wanna Diddy shake Lookin puffy in my sides I might cop some Visvim slides if I can get them in my size I used to think they weren't my style But now I think they're kinda fly Don't you think i's crazy how opinions evolve over time The bottle says that it's a stout, But this stuff tastes like barleywine I forgot to wind my watch, But I think that it's party time Do y'all think that it's party time? Maybe we should take a vote, but will it split down party lines Or will there be consensus we attempt this 'cause it's on our minds

Eat Pei Wei on the freeway Cop Beyblades off of eBay Talk to my band on three-way We want more fans when we play Watching the Bulls and Heat play They need to play the replay Ref said, "last touched by D-Wade" But I don't trust what he say I don't trust too much these days Too much stuff taken from me They say, "In God we trust" Don't trust God with my money Don' trust man with my spirits, Beers and wine I said the fridge was empty You think he knows I'm lying? Check My notifications Notice no invitations Nothing new from my friends No one is on vacation Nothing new from my foes Playstation gamer woes So far nd yet some close But one day... One day, one day Turn this sidewalk to a runway Make spotlights from sun rays And hit home runs off of bundt cakes Make rap songs in one take, and have people say you've done great Damn, that would be so great Damn, that would be fun Hey, that's the exit up ther on the right It's kind of hard to see it when you drive at night Let me get my phone to call and tell them we'll arrive at nine Pull up to the Fry's so we can buy the wine What's that kangaroo shit you get all the time? I'mma purchase all the chips Bu no guac or salsa dip I hope they're watching baskeball D-Wade's bout to call it quite Cars on black ice spin like tops Four-wheeled Beyblades, let it rip Damn, I love to online shop, Bu items take so long to ship. Shit.

Shimmy shaken not stirred in jodhpur boots Uprooted, making the present a moot point Anoint shirts with sweat stains in the sign of the armpits Your body is a temple, and this is holy water Holy moley, blotters help me see that the world is odder than what I thought I bought a lot of stuff that I didn’t need You trust what you didn’t see, and I’m envious deja vus are your premonitions Issuing admonitions at positivism you posit I’m closeted, and I pause before answering As I ponder pandering to your curiousity I know what my body needs, but you’ve got it awful awkward, but hot and bothered Puzzled by your offer, I walk away I don’t want to talk today, sometimes I don’t have the answers Maybe I don’t care enough, don’t care to understand Don’t want to overstate, lest I overstay my welcome, I can’t help myself, and can’t help them Our curses are harmless as hellfires, benign empty threats Simply stretch wool over eyes until you get the message Getting dressed in the dark is less impressive when your clothes don’t match your heart, Design an empty thread Wear it from head to toe, and still feel naked Stir the pot, and still feel shakeny My breaking and boiling points converge A synthesis, a unity, soon we’ll see if reason prevails, All that ails can’t be fixed with mail-in ballots Phone in and tune out, but still jailed in this dermis A stern fist shaken at deterministic ideals that encroach Riding coach on a train to nowhere, If they knew where, would they still go there? inhale and exhale ghost air, Coasting from coast to coast on momentum of forebears indiscretions Scared that their lessons are outdated, Bait and switch on bated breath cursing misdirection

Circle K Circle K, Gatorade Gatorade Burnt out skaters and cars with vanity license plates People on papers claiming they didn’t get high today Rolling through red lights when they don’t have the right of way West side, West side, wrong way on the interstate Headlights fly by like a jump in to hyperspace Hey, wanna try a bump, come on, you’ll be wide awake Sleeping is such a waste, come on, it’s just a taste Sunburn, sunburn, damn your skin looks like grapefruit juice The texture of leather, but with the color of pampelmousse Sunset is ocotillo, sunrise is guava fruit The ground is like lava, and all the water is hot soup Hipsters at Gadzooks, dad hats and dad shoes They call him, “daddy”, but he don’t act like most dads do Living off fast food, teenagers with tattoos Trashed off Mickeys, Popov, Mad Dog, and Pabst Blue We want payback for wage gaps, we want equity ASAP Does his neck tat say ACAB? Will leg lifts give me great abs All these houses are prefab, there’s Old Spice in my day bag Bengal spice in my tea bag, feel like there’s nothing I’m great at Drinking water has PFAS, my backyard’s full of stray cats These millennials eat ass, and they don’t like to pay cash I’m surrounded by d-bags, headed home on the train tracks Cause the Cubs played the D-Backs, and this stop’s where the game’s at, Going Eastbound, Eastbound, Chase Field to the right of me There’s lots of white people, and they’re all yelling violently One guy says, “go Cubs!” To show that he likes the team Another says, “you suck!”, as if there’s a rivalry I sit there silently, it’s late and I’d like to sleep A cop car pulls up, but it drives away when the light is green It’s hot, but I like the heat, I see to the side of me A man waiting for the right time to roll up and light his green

Pork chops with the Mott’s applesauce Air forces with the strap at the top I always wanted to cop, but now I got a pair that I don’t wear a lot Four Hennessy shots on the rocks Three pizzas, two liters of pop One hitter piece with the dank at the tip Dub zero Jordan’s that crease when you walk New LG phone with the flip Bluetooth, hands free when we talk Road dogs all ready to trip Catfish with the Frank’s red hot Whole squad convene at the spot Lee jeans with some cash in the pocket Buddy was somebody till he got caught Now he’s just another case on the docket you think you'll never go And then it starts to show Then you think, "well I'll be damned" Will I now? Hash browns with an egg in the middle Ball gown with a slit in the side It’s Saturday, show the leg off a little We’re living it up if you’re down for the ride C-Class with a rack on the roof Good gas, burning E85 sitting in traffic a mile from the loop Broadcasting on Instagram live Stacy Adams spectators White calf and red gator Focaccia with the fresh basil Got it out the bread maker Those in the those in the know got the code to the pager Zirconia glow like the hands on a raver Can’t think of much that I bring to the table But I know that there was a spark like a taser Wake in the morning and get the bread Think of eating ham and eggs The future is here, the future is today The call that you see is the call that you make Ritz crackers with the peanut butter Need to free my brothers in the penal system They be piggybacking off the prima facie And it’s proto-fascist, that’s the legal system J Dilla out the speaker system Got the sauce dripping like it’s Caesar dressing With the wrist fracture, couldn’t eat a pickle Cause the jar was sticking, it was so depressing I’m doing better now, thanks for checking Got a couple of Claussens out the deli section Sauerkraut with the stank on it That sour beer tasted interesting K Swiss in the all white Came through rocking fly kicks If I see you pull up in the five stripes I might fuck around and make you my My my my my

(Mr.UU's verse) I just paid cash for this stuff, Illicit transactions and such, You puff and you pass We sit in the cab of your truck Lights off and windows rolled up I puff and I pass Your fingers grab onto the blunt Smoke fills your lungs as you suck I pass on my puff Hit it again if you want I’m high as fuck, I’ve had enough (Mr. UU's verse) Damn, pass that shit back Don’t Bogard the blunt, man that’s wack Hit it again if you want? When the hell’d I say that? You lying right now, bro, that’s cap Lets’s rewind the rap *hit it again if you want* My bad, I’m lit off that gas A space cadet blased off grass Sorry bout that I need some snacks and a nap, stat

Bro, you can’t hang with me Ain’t nothing sweet, this is savory I’ll get indecent, don’t play with me I’m in the major leagues You were JV if you made the team This game is talent, not bravery I’ve been the best since distinctions were made, you’re, a baby I spin till you’re dizzy, you just do 180s I slay thee, you’re sloppy, Just stop it, already No popping champagne, and no tossing confetti Sauce off the top of the noodle: spaghetti Can’t copy my pasta if you knew the recipe Mess with me, it could get messy 13 with the hesi, your schemes don’t impress me My movement’s too fluid, my bag is to heavy You need collateral just come check me My style is too masterful, hope that you’re prepping Yo, this is a lesson, to know who you messin with Don’t mean to diss you, but this ain’t your business, I do this for real, and I don’t think you get it, I did it for decades, you did it a minute, you out, and I’m in it, I’m bout it, you isn’t, I did what you didn’t, and couldn’t, and won’t, or just shouldn’t, there’s proof in the pudding, I put on and put in this work, if you looking to step in the dirt, then just pray for the best while expecting the worst, you knew not what to expect from the verse, so I’ll let you digest it, it’s just the desserts, I heard if you mess with the best that it hurts, there’s an ‘S’ on my chest, it’s just under my shirt, son of a gun, you don’t wanna be wondering, “why did I line up if I couldn’t run with him? Why did I sign myself for this punishment? Why fake the pass if he knows that I’m punting it

We view the world through a peephole because sometimes, that’s all we can take, This smile isn’t fake, but it’s complicated It seems like the wrong people are always exonerated Bad behavior makes for good drama and ratings And I love the spectacle, but I still hate it The name of the game is waiting unless you’re racist, If so, it’s be faux pas and then save face For the rest of us, we tread water: take two steps forward, but stay in the same place Just tryna reach a baseline, our goals aren’t lofty Still killin’ them softly, slowly Pouring orange juice in old E, my cheeks get rosy The marigold glow of an old soul who know’s he’s too small to matter If our hearts were as big as our bladders, there’d be love with less conditions Instead, we get heated from friction Happy memories get treated like historical fiction This rap’s reduced to rhetorical diction, but it’s more than that, Oral traditions are stored on wax These are allegories from scores gone back Rhyme in a time capsule Past casual thoughts preserved Un-deferred dreams of disturbed persons It hurts less when you talk about it I let my thoughts out of the bottle, sometimes the truth’s harder than shots to swallow with no chasers to follow I emptied my soul and still felt hollow, but that’s okay I put my chips on the table like Frito Lay at a picnic And hope that, somewhere between Pomona and Ipswich, somebody gets it They’re not hits, but some of these tracks bump like zits And that’s something I fuck with I don’t have a list of buckets I, myself, am a vessel that’s continually purged and replenished And when I’m finished, I’m finished My only hope is that what I did’s not diminished by menace I never watched The Apprentice, but I get cold like hockey rinks at the thought that voting blocks bought into it I’m just not into it, Sometimes, being alive seems strenuous But I try to stay genuine and generous Jocular, but serious Not so mysterious Maybe stop fearing us and start hearing us Open minds and ears to us Looking for some peers to trust Are we scared or scary? Aggressive raps or the last gasps of a mineshaft canary Too small to go on, too big to be carried But still we carry on I get weary. Can you hear me? Restless nights, I think my mattress fears me Restless days, I think the sun laughs in my face Crime only pays if you work at it, And is it worth working at criminal bad habits Bland as steamed carrots and cabbage, I’m rabbit food, Feeling more apt at incurring the wrath of the baddest dudes Guess who; the saddest sadist, Annoyed by my employment, so I make agitated statements As my body ages, I start to wonder if the magic’s faded, I need maintenance, It’s hard to sustain the urge to make it when all that you once held sacred just aint it, Torn and tainted Gold painted, but chipped My lips tremble when I attempt to say their praises I see the news, and I feel sick People I thought I knew make me feel sick I don’t know what to do, so I stay sick It’s not humid, but the air feels thick I haven’t weighed, it, but I can’t lift my spirits with this air on top If the music stops, I’m afraid that I’ll stop with it Sometimes, I don’t feel hot when it hits triple digits Sorry, I’m trippin’, do you want to kick it? Let’s get food, all this stress is burning lipids It’s not quite ketogenic, but I’m feeling different I watch how I’m movin’, keep it real, but cryptic I still get anxious about who’s listenin I’m less religious, I’ve been crossed by Christians, Getting weary, but I try to go the distance Even if I ride the benches with limited minutes like Darko on the Pistons, It’s alright as long as I’m still winnin’ I just want us all to grin less gingerly I raise my glass of tea, that’s lemon ginger Shouts out to my niggas, ya’ll my dogs: Doberman Pinschers slamming beers like pogs, we tilt our heads back like pez dispensers On unsteady legs, I did a lot of walking home last winter I must have a glass wrist The jukebox is playing badfish Feeling aggressively passive and passive aggressive I need to hear some eclectic perspectives to calm me down I feel as stiff as Mitt Romney around people Our justice system doesn’t care about brown people And George Bush doesn’t care about black people And Brandy Melville doesn’t care about fat people It sounds like conjecture, but it’s based in facts, people I’m all wound up, and I can’t relax, people How ‘bout that, people?