[Verse 1]
I hang with wifey and chronic growers, sonic harvesters
Hardest demonic flowers, atomic artist; keep articles laced
Erase entire auras and leave particles your place
Carve cartilage and make Scarborough tomorrow
Articles crawl across headlines, cross hairs are placed
On the face of the menace but a Moss-burg on your waist...
But a Moss-burg on your waist... Check it...
[Verse 2]
Boss hogging it cross country, what could the cost run me?
Couple plane tickets, some sticky when we kick it
A kid to hold me down when I'm out of town, OT
Like twenty bucks for stogies, stuck living off of hoagies
Rogue homies roam aimless, toting chrome and stainless steel
Homeless, not brainless, never new a painless meal
Rainless land where white man let red blood stain his hands
So I reside wherever my cadence land; Radiant vagabond
[Verse 3]
Peel a Dutchie with my finger tips, a singer's lips clinging
I bring in a grip slinging and dip when the flip's ringing
Equipped with a wicked wit we'd equate to a whip stinging
Sick of scnicklefritz nickel trips, he dips at the sixth inning
Never stretching, keep it raw and pure; that's why A&R's hate me
Even homies on my dick for the way I'm saying bars lately
Conspiracy theorists hear this and start rewinding
Tryna find a line about the diamond in my army lining
My style's unorthodox like Shawn Marion jumpers
The pen does Arian numbers when it's running amuck
Stuck at rock bottom like '03 Saddam Hussein
These 2016 Hillary Rodhams rotting your brain
Docks for President
[Verse 4]
Excitedly pacing in grape, emerald J's with ivory lacing
Vibrant coordination, violent subordination
In a self important, who*e supporting, war supporting nation
I promised my Momma that I'd take it easy on the L's
But I'm seventeen now and I said that when I was twelve
But she won't really give a f** if my record is on the shelf
I keep my record clean and don't make an example of myself
I'm hazardous to your health, I'm spazzing and it's for delf
Leave chams and muscle spasms bedazzled above your belt
Your a** isn't in it's element, tell 'em that it's in hell
This is a felon selling melodies staying out of a cell
I'm proud of a hell of alot of what I've done in the streets
Rolling with a quarter-p without a gun in the seats
Not so much of times I wish I had a double barrel shotty
Shotty with shorty pushing pounds probably smuggled here in bodies
Juggling hobbies so I obviously had to drop one
Playing Russian Roulette with a double-barrel shot gun
Heads or tails