Yo, the voice of the announcer signing off
Salvador, a connoisseur, a hot monologue
Rachmaninoff, livin' life not by the law
And I'm a product of that Rakim God Allah
Forensic files, leaving 'em disemboweled, '87 style
They chance slimmer than reverend Al or Kevin Liles
Some friends are vile, still be peddlin' vials
Off of eleven mile, they wishin' you would
You prolly better reconcile
The dark side of to who they rising in prominence
My crown's taller than Suleiman of The Ottomans
Wiser than Solomon, mobilizing the following
They try and give me the Nobel prize for novelists
Peace to cats that rock MAC knowledge knowledges
Hood astrologists, illegal anesthesiologists, yo
El elefante, Bella Fonte
Keep a regimen ready to give 'em hell if PRhyme say
Yo, post traumatic stress, I wear it as a family crest
I murder at its best, words that'll manifest causing cardiac arrest
Budapest to Marrakesh, my slang Bangladesh
My gang's Clarence X, I'm life after death, the last Levine X
Lettin' every other rapper know they better wear a vest
I'm pulling in two hundred thousand for appearances
I wrote a song about it, here it is, yo
The creature feature search a preacher teacher torch
Capture, rupture, rapture, reach her, the preacher
He defeat ya, speak the ether, sneak then creep ya
Say no peace to meet ya, can't nobody get with me
Strong suits from Italy, chill, humility what I'm all about, ability, yo
I wish a nigga would bring the hostility though
You know how them boys from Philly be
I'm like cyanide, creeping through the ear ducts
And I got a foul mouth, tell 'em kids earmuffs
When I was at school, I was who to steer clear of
Smoking a reefer in the bathroom, sipping Smirnoff
When it came time for the pictures in the yearbook
I was up in class like an American werewolf
Years later, yo I'm an American hero verse evil like
Deerhoof, if I let the bear woof
They don't recognize me when I'm shopping up in Berdgdorf
They just know I'm flier than the motherfucking airport
Therefore they say I'm a sartorial gear whore, yeah
Uh, Ascots on the tailor suits
You artists throwing bands on the radio like they made you you
I'm looking for artists on stage to throw tomatoes to
The way I act you think I'm banned from radio, like Trae Tha Truth
I don't really care, nigga, I'm getting in
I gotta see , I'm saying N
I'on, I'on, I'on give a fuck, any DJ anywhere
I'on, I'on give 'em as a triple dare, I'll tie him to a swivel chair
I'on give 'em spins, ha ha, I'on give 'em greens and count dividends
Ask around by them D-Town niggas that'll leave you
With a concert full of dead fans and bloody merch
Smoking dope that's ille- that's the color perp
You might wanna study first
Every verse lyrical but nutty first
Every verb and every word is like a speeding bullet
'Bout to chop your body in half while it's on the way to heaven
Like Kid Cudi shirt, shit could be a hit but it's gotta be money first
I rap with a sickness card, Iraq pistol pulling private, shh