[Verse 1: Chance the Rapper]
Yeah I see the gun but it's a pellet
Yeah the ball is in your court, but it's appellate
They sayin Acid was an album retail it
I said I got way too much soul for me to sell it
That's why godfather tied the cape on my shoulders
Said save em from false prophets and wolves in sheeps' clothing
I'm a little too hard to be slept on
I'm a little too sharp to be stepped on
A little too Pac for the septum
I'm so pretty I make mirrors blush
I spit the sh** in a party to make your ear adjust
I'm a parapalegic parrot with a pair of crutches in a no fly zone
On the phone talking bout how Bush trying to disparage us
There's a metaphor if I expound
There's a better score in the next round
Me and raps go together like donuts and fresh ground
Coffee, I'm awfully softly spoken
In Autumn, fall leaf clovin
My posters on dry wall and my banners are star spangled
My demons get charred, mangled, Chancelor the Archangel
I don't pray for chart singles
I grab life by the ankle like Kurt Angle
And ask it if it's ticklish
Ask me if that's ridiculous
I'm a meticulous fickle dude
That just happens to spit a little bit
And you can tell I rapped this off my phone
Cause you can hear that ringtone in the background but I'm in the zone