So if I'm able, I'll make my lyrics something more chemically stable.
Crushing bars into lines to inhale through my nasal passageways.
White lie powders that empower a mic and time devourer.
I'll screw up your social hour, and leave the lemonheads looking sour.
Mario flower power shower, raining heat on every doubter.
You got the green? Somehow I'm still louder.
Scarecrow Geek against the Lion Cowards.
Hip hop stunts like new sneaks, it's my creative recreation.
So here's some preparation H for your ass inflammation.
Get over it.
White boy is rapping, but not for radio stations.
Just fun, no funds, no guns, still shunned like a proud Texan who spent 6 months in London.
Jameson sipping with Scottie Pippen.
Oh, you hate me for the skinny jeans? Guess you don't fit in.
Blissful ignorance with Big Mama Madea
Ear for music like Amadeus.
Feeding local vagrants and rearrange your iPod's playlist.
To include DKTHGK in your fucking favorites.
Here's a riot for ya.
Amputate anonymous assholes with a fire sword whip.
Ivy aiming at your antiqued eyes, cause anguish.
Deek sneaks like a snake, y'all are stiff as penguins.
From happy feet to fetal position from 2 instances of how I'm capable of rhyme spitting.
Maybe tonight can turn to something more suggestive.
Hit Shiner's Saloon with a Latina, we're getting messed up.
Top down, seat back, rolling in my cadillac.
Pop punk gang vocals, where the fuck you at?
Prepaid, no trace, from my mouth, in your face.
Bringing back the fast pace, down south sweet taste.
Got xanies after filling up my gas tank.
Bleed my bank account cause the damn thing got shanked.
The punk with some pranks.
Tank tops, tan lines, cruising in a Lumina with Hot Water Music cranked.
Up and at em, blaming Eve and Adam.
Suffer through this evening, avoid human anatomy.
Part time rapper, stronger than the Incredible Hulk with a fucking Level 3 X Factor.
Pastor passed my pad cause I'm poisonous.
Smoked a stoge, shotgun'd a beer before recording this.
Rush upon a sinking boat before the boarding ends.
And everyone face down at the bottom are my story's twins.
Stick figure fiddle sticks, I'm kicking these little shits throwing fickle fits,
and writing songs more often than Danny Brown licks clits.
Get hit by the geek down the street.
Alpha 3, 2, 1, your defeat.