[Verse 1: Andrew Auernheimer] I'm bringing rap back from the depths of Hell Prepare to be amazed, fall under a lyrical spell All I hear is muf**as braggin' 'bout possessions We're in a recession, make success your new obsession You spend more time shopping than in recording sessions That doesn't add up, like f**ed up math equations The last person you'd think to bring back the cla**ics Would be a white boy, you'll get your a** kicked If you call me a stereotype Soon you'll be playing me through the stereo in your ride Rich white kids driving foreign cars that their parents bought Hotboxing a Caddy, hoping they won't get caught f** with hard d** just because their bored [beat pauses] I don't pop Molly, I drive an old Ford Growing up, nice neighborhood, rough childhood Never claimed to be from ghetto hoods The type a guy to use a swag-f*g as a punching bag Take his snapback from Obey Put it on, f** his mom, and ask if he's okay Check the player card, I never acted hard I drive unimpressive rides, humble cars Humble beginnings to remember when we're winning Saturday sinning, go to church and begin again I might change my name, I never stay the same My observation of social norms is driving me insane Rap has gotten soft, the term savages is false You worship Cheif Keef when he shouldn't have gotten a deal at all Just a juvenile delinquent like the black Jesse Pinkman, and I'm Going Heisenberg, cook you up some crystal rhymes! Ha ha! Guess that's my time K-Switch, two thousand fourteen to infinity! b**h!