I ain't got %#@! to show for my days
I sit back with a thirty pack, get smashed and write rap tracks
Then I crash like the NASDAQ and when I awake

Its time to punch my alarm and shower off the mistakes
See I'm gross and I'm fat, I keep stretchin' out my negative cash
Sometimes I forget to shut the blinds when I fap

And my last piece of $$# I had to harass
She left after I smashed, but !@#$it I can rap
I'm better than you at producin' tunes from primitive tools

Without a muse I use spools of vibrating strings and its all to amuse
A select few in test tubes, mix jet fuel with sex juice
And watch 'em dance out the tubes to my track with some dilated eyes and a bottle full of jack

I rip tracks and spit facts with most lips to my $$#
Get trashed by some cats who breakdance to Relapse
It gets sad to play dad to grown folks who think that

Just because you rock a fitted hat and rhyme single syllables together that it means you can make rap

I've got nothing to show for my pathetic life

You got a Benz and busty $$# wife
(But I'm a better rapper than you)
You got a bank account of Ludacris large amounts

I got debt an accountant couldn't count
(But I'm a better rapper than you)
I got a roommate, one window and no shades

You've owned a house since two thousand eight
(But I'm a better rapper than you)
You got a woman and charm, cash in your palm

I've out !@(#d my arm
(But I'm a better rapper than you)
I've got a hangover and fear I cure with beer

You've got a largely successful career
(But I'm a better rapper than you)
You've got everything that I could possibly want

(I have a microphone and you don't)

Guess what? Its easy to get stuck

In your own little world, you're just little boys and girls playin' house in a household crumblin' at the word
"Think": What the $#&@ is this all worth?
You could be the most relevant person in the world

And you still won't mean %#@!, we're just one planet stupid
Diluted ego confuses progression with movement
You influence so little in your infinitely small world

You're here, but that don't mean you were meant to occur
Words are just that, we use them to express facts
As well as our opinions we string from the past

The grass is never greener, the soul is never cleaner
Progression only exists relating to your demeanor
So take your fine clothes and bang your !@$# hoes

And bank your green rolls and peel out in your own
I'm broke, but perceptions all that matters ya know
Asshole, (I have a microphone and you don't)