[Verse 1: milo] Check King Cookie Face Born of the Wookie race Hedging beds at all local booking places Forlorn glances at dirty faces Spent a whole afternoon staring at the ceiling fan Business card reads: You should k** the vocal thinking man The role I play in this particular crew They all say I'm far more n******gish Groo The wanderer, milo's a ponderer Pandering the undead dirtbag philosophers Seraphim put the most hope in him Been known my way around paraprosdokian On the other hand I have different black fingers Asked a homeless man: If I die, will my soul linger? We spend the rap advance to buy the most off Etsy Don't floss to test me, peanuts in hand George Carver Punnett square mixed with Dostoyevsky I don't feel I know myself too good these days I don't feel I know myself too good these days I don't feel I know myself too good these days I don't feel I know myself too good these days [Verse 2: VerBS] Way more hoes to clutch Way more souls to touch The only real religion is fanaticism We follow our golden ones Ey, and God told me I'm a favorite, but At the same time I could grow complacent I got obligations and constellations And now my whole damn body it feels adjacent, ah Everybody just a template If you really really wanna keep it simplis-tic Still different but categories Man in all sorts of damn genres of his scent Trick, read sh** in allegory You know it gets real when keeping it real Gaining some love then losing the feel And all my solter [?] filters got me using a shield And I'm a secret agent like I work for Shield [?] cold switch when it swerve the field, of acting Alright, I'm done