4AM - The Last Foreclosure on my Gingerbread House at Least I Think It Was/My Dinner Table Excuses (Prod. by 4am, Avium, Kaytranda) lyrics

[Verse 1 4AM]: 4AM, oh you that hip-hop hipster Rockin' for the rasta reggae heads Getting love from kids who love the body bread Oh he's just trying to show us that he's worth some more than Honus, man how? Cause he grew up in the desert of deserted dreams That some sh** they never see Applyin' to the Y-Gen The Science to the sport Cause that stork was for our elders, and they tell us tip your hats All we do is send them love, and all they do is send it back And they just love, my couplets just raise cups Man these f**s, there ain't none Time for domination Respect to common sense Gave me it's two cents To sense if i was making sense But that scent of success, just gave my outlook on how hook could never f** with Peter Pan Now Neverland is where I go to college When the mileage on my wings Made me think if I could ever use my Tinker Tailor Solider to help me breathe In that smog of the lost cause of kissing our moms goodbye Cause my crooked smile, made an image of Crooks a born sinner Make men from mice Think twice think soon fam Cause four was that fork that ran away with the spoon fam *beat change* [Bridge] : I Have an unshakable belief characterized by consistently inflated feelings of personal ability, privilege and infallibility *clip* [Bridge 2] I refuse to admit the possibility of error and failure Even in the face of irrefutable evidence and intractable problems [Verse 2 4AM]: Yeah, this beat just bangin' leave my feet ding-danglin' underneath the sheets Call me that Wicked Witch of East That beast of this whole project, got the God Complex hanging on by a thread got the lady in the red dress to bed Yeah, these dreams are just lucid My power is far from gifted I can not rank myself with the commons Im just trying to beat you, seat you be more the merry mother geese Jesus, Jospeh, owes us, my name is Jonas Enough of that clock talk just more of that God talk, four Better cap that G or you'll catch this cap my G We just, getting buried up in Gettysburg Replay some sh**, they be like what? And no more who's cause all my where's went into my cup This meal is a must, when we outa love Instead of these hugs, flash my mother a deuce not thinkin' about what I can lose Cause now Booth's got the barrel of ferrel livin' pointed straight to Mr. Lincoln's head And on the bed of his d**h, he gets a full page in the yearbook at best, yeah *clip*