(pressed)
My tribe burn urns
Earns haters cause our natural rhyme saying
Decays brains and flays remains
Stay in your lane if your names
Off the plane you'll lay where we play
Seriously on another level
Chief of GPT group of rebels
Or rogues y'all en vogue
We're cla**ical, y'all plastic old
Toy pianos no flows or ring
Fragile, we're the Kings of this thing
So you can call me, Chief Ciph of Kings
Ointment is a need for burns
Cause our Rhymes are on point
And we're lyrically alert
(Radda, Radda)
So try rhyming against the Aloof
Dead fools is proof that that's a goof move
Too true to try to protest
Dope lines so I'll stand times test, bet
(Like a motherf**er!)