[Verse 1: Andrew Auernheimer]
I'm bringing rap back from the depths of Hell
Prepare to be amazed, fall under a lyrical spell
All I hear is muf**as braggin' 'bout possessions
We're in a recession, make success your new obsession
You spend more time shopping than in recording sessions
That doesn't add up, like f**ed up math equations
The last person you'd think to bring back the cla**ics
Would be a white boy, you'll get your a** kicked
If you call me a stereotype
Soon you'll be playing me through the stereo in your ride
Rich white kids driving foreign cars that their parents bought
Hotboxing a Caddy, hoping they won't get caught
f** with hard d** just because their bored
[beat pauses]
I don't pop Molly, I drive an old Ford
Growing up, nice neighborhood, rough childhood
Never claimed to be from ghetto hoods
The type a guy to use a swag-f*g as a punching bag
Take his snapback from Obey
Put it on, f** his mom, and ask if he's okay
Check the player card, I never acted hard
I drive unimpressive rides, humble cars
Humble beginnings to remember when we're winning
Saturday sinning, go to church and begin again
I might change my name, I never stay the same
My observation of social norms is driving me insane
Rap has gotten soft, the term savages is false
You worship Cheif Keef when he shouldn't have gotten a deal at all
Just a juvenile delinquent like the black Jesse Pinkman, and I'm
Going Heisenberg, cook you up some crystal rhymes!
Ha ha! Guess that's my time
K-Switch, two thousand fourteen to infinity!
b**h!