So, lyricly,
These other ^!$$%s fear me,
Cause I say that basic %#@!,

Like being on a cheer team,
Still gotta Neff shirt,
Still rocking some Vans,

Pockets not full,
But still sag when I wear pants,
God damn Lance,

Tryna see London,
Tryna see France,
But it's hard enough just tryna dance,

And prance around, driving around town,
Car sound like it has surround sound,
Or maybe not,

Got my lyrics held together,
Like a shoe knot,
Can't see these other lames,

Too small, tater tots,
Favorite color is the same as my pot,
Coming for the number two spot,

Cause then I'll be %#@!,
You get it?
If I suck, am I like a baby on a tit?

If I'm hot, am I the fire on the pit?
If I'm blunt, am I likely to stay lit?
$#&@ my mouth is dry,

Only cause I love to spit,
Quick, take another hit, Rocky,
Hopefully my words don't sound too @@#!y,

But, likely, I told you I'm a lyricist,
People hear me in my songs,
Saying "who is this?"

They can't believe it like Ripley's,
So sweet like Shipley's,
Granny hopping to my %#@!,

She needs a new hip please,
Turn my music on like a tease,
And hopefully it catches you like a flu, with a sneeze,

Overseas,
Is where I'm trying to go,
But tryna save rich,

Instead of just tryna blow up,
Like a Kamikaze,
Wanna get a new whip,

But can't afford a Maserati,
But if talk is cheap,
Can I buy your body?

It's me against the world,
Like Scotty,
%#@!,

But can you really stop me?
Freedom of speech,
Even the laws can't block me,

Words hit hard like hockey,
Or Jeremy Shockey,
Whatever sounds better,

I'd have stand out flows,
Even without letters."


"$#&@ it,
Rhyming actually sounds much better,
Flow hotter than eight heaters,

Wearing a leather sweater,
Lance cut the cheese,
Here's a single,

Like a Pringle,
Ain't tryna to mingle,
^!$$%s pissed off,

I'm just trying to tinkle."

"Haha.

Yeah.
Haha.
What the?

Haha.
I'm out.
Hahahah.
Whoop!
Yup yup, yup yup.

Yup Yup.