[Intro: Mac Miller]
Might as well introduce
This is madness!
This is an outrage! (echo)
As a matter of fact, this is outrageous!
[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
Yeah, young sire, slap the f** out Jon Cryer
Rough rider, raw bust inside a vagina
Like I want kids
My head continues to be haunted
I burn a city down while I'm unconscious, maybe gone
Take some quaaludes, conversate with Jesús
Batting practice with the mothaf**in' ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a saint do, turn painful to graceful
Devil on my trails, I'm trying to find the Holy Grail
(Coughs repeatedly) Right there
And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his target
Then I don't know why I even started
I'm sick of being too nice to people who don't do sh** but consume light
Told myself, "f** the world kid, just do what you like"
Go and have a food fight
Start yourself a new life
You're too bright to be inside a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big words ain't gon' get you paid
And those abstract ideas for sure won't get you laid
You got it made in that mad house
What the f** you got to be sad 'bout? Go 'head a rap now
Do what you do best, I mean
That's what you do best
Matter fact mothaf**a, you suit vest
You need to buy a new dress
I heard you and your girl live in a duplex
I'm a put her a** in a Suplex, the sun east
The moon west
You got a clue, what does a clue get? Nothing
[Verse 2: Jay Electronica]
My milk and honey, my chérie-chérie amore
My Cinderella in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the scarecrow
And the lion through the forest
To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember that? He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the whole world's in color, still
How Auntie Em was next of kin
And not her mother
Real, her face was careworn
I suspected she migrated to Kansas up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch from the very beginning of Year One
Mr. Candyman, the parables parabolic
The poetry's like the poems and psalms of Ecclesiastes
Lightning should strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet
The Judge will bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell "Hear, Hear," finally some order to this rap sh**
Finally some sort of water to soil these cracked lips
I keep my sh** crispy and elegant,
So miss me with the irrelevant
The god body is heaven-sent
The hard-body is reverence, since the son of Byford
Brother of Fal, every rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, livin' la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to..