[Intro]
[Verse 1: The Walkman]
Let's spin a web
The illest emcee on the interweb
Onan on the beat
We chop we up to make the borscht I eat
Done with the puns
Up with the guns
Up with the force fields
I'll k** some kaiju with you
I won't look behind you mind you
I find you unfit
You found me unfunded
Befuddled and confused
The views were stuck in the hundreds
I wondered what happened
The blunders had flustered me
And adjusted me to catering my music to underlings
Now here we are in future and you need company
You're handing me a list of sh** that you need done from me
I doubt that you could understand what you have done to me
But I can't leave now because I'm stubborn
It's stuck to me
What in the f**?
(What in the f**)
I mean excuse me, what's up with that?
I'm popping like bubble wrap
I hop like I get a stack
Yeah, just pa** the tree to me actually spitting factually
Casually make a masterpiece faster than Master P
[Verse 2: The Walkman]
I said, just pa** the tree to me actually spitting factually
Casually make a masterpiece faster than Master P
I got a snapple tea
And a pa**ion no catching no Zs
It's just me and the mic and beat and the reefer, it's easy
I keep predicting my predicaments like Nostradamus
A host of commas sent to send you to your foster mommas
When you get disowned because I owned you on the track like I had bought your fathers
I treat your Padres like Brooklyn Dodgers
But no more puns
No more fun
Cause no more funds
I'm done playing
But I'm still swinging for one more run
I'm ironic
A street icon be iconic
They think I can't but if honest then I'm honored
To prove worth
That could've been my rap name
But I'm never getting that changed
Cause I ain't doing paperwork
I'd rather face the dirt and sell you what my hatred's worth
And bite the bullet in your sights when it's too late to search