[Intro]
[Backmasked message]
[Verse 1: Gil Wrayson]
I'm going Patrick Bateman on the f**ing spawn of Hell
Blood pressure less than zero like the bad part of Arendelle
I don't make brag raps, I only make nag raps
I can leave you stumped like I busted off your kneecaps
I wanna blow up like an easy Michael Bay joke
Bad boys wanna rock while I wanna provoke
One more year till I'm able to smoke
And be popular with b**hes like Hopsin with blokes
Good day, family, came to roast me?
Or host me and boast me while toasting me with low key bullsh**
Put me to sleep like Kevorkian practices
If you f** with my friends, we go to the mattresses
Want aguilas, not buitres over my head
Put on a pedestal, get head from Jhene like the world could end
But for now, I'm just a rapper on the Genius forums
While all my fans are saying "Don't bore us, get to the chorus"
[Chorus: Gil Wrayson]
Everybody come together and work as a team
Everybody come together and work as a team
Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream
Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream
[Verse 2: Emperor Aguila (and his critics)]
Look, you ain't sh**, 'cause you rap on the internet
Why put yourself out there? Nobody has interest
f** it, got buckets of bars, yet nobody's digging 'em
A nugget of wisdom, getting gold is a synonym
For impossibility, the probability of me
Going platinum is like Stupid Liz-ike's ability
To find astatine combined with an alkaline metal
It's crossing the line, balling like Kareem, toss me a medal
Wait, Aguila you don't f**ing deserve one
You're dope, but you aren't making it, stop faking it
Shaking sh** up like a Coca-Cola soda from the summer of 1886
Lady chicks sipping on it like a gin-and-tonic
The James Bond of lame songs, yet I have potential
Essentially underrated like the understated Bond's games
In 2002, rousin' you up like a home run
My microphone gun, I strike ya home, run
(Emp)
[Chorus: Emperor Aguila]
Everybody come together and work as a team (as a team)
Everybody come together and work as a team (as a team)
Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream (lucid dream)
Till we're soaring like eagles in a lucid dream (na na)
[Verse 3: Gil Wrayson]
One, two, three strikes with the bat, what's a baseball?
See you next fall when I have it all, please hold your calls
And it's a holocaust in the halls with kids bawling their eyes out
Cause they did some stupid sh** drinking a little too much stout
Oh wait, the subject escaped me, let me throw it back in its cage
If "High" is my one-hit, I'm fine that I went hard like Lady of Rage
On her one hit
I spit sh** with quick wit that lifts you
Nitwits and twits to skip the Pandora pick
I'm flamboyant, Jareth on meth, Beth Sloane tried to abort me
And all these rap heads just wanna sort me
"He's a product of Tyler, Em, Cube, Bino, and Jay-Z"
Yeah, that's true, but how does that make me lazy?
"He stole his opinions from Todd, Rap Critic, and Mues"
I admit I worship them, and would gladly fill their pews
FLUUD and I are cleaning this rap game spill; we know the drill
But I won't be a f**ing snitch like Meek Mill