[Verse 1: Mike Shinoda]
You ready?
Yo, yeah
Not worried 'bout a tidal like Apple or Spotify
Streaming freemium heat, your wounds'll get cauterized
Right in front of every fickle fan that you're followed by
Like blackhat hackers you'll be looking for compromise
Your man's laughing while we're watching you backpedal
The crowd's cringing, you can't win, your attack's mellow
I'm half-hoping you'll still rap when the laughs settle
Bodied by a singer from a band that did rap-metal?
Shit, I digress, where to start?
'Cause whether I'm the biggest or I barely chart
Count wins on the tracks and the mic and art
I'm a legend in three games like I'm Jensen Karp (It's Hot Karl)
So irreverent, I tip-toe up
And whisper that you're more irrelevant than "Real World" Puck
Have you up at night counting all the reasons I suck
And I would love to hear about it but I ran out of fucks
[Verse 2: Hot Karl]
Got a story so real had to write it as non-fiction
Fucking up the game like Scott Storch's drug addiction
My diction, feel with conviction, despite my mission
Halted by the vision of businessmen with bad decisions
Twenty years ago I was the next rapper to break
Only to end up like Michael Jordan's crying face
But please don't mistake that I'm not ill as straight sick
Fuck with my dogs, I'll hunt you down like I was John Wick
I wrote a memoir which is a dope thing to hear
'Til I found out Ja Rule also wrote one last year
Oh well, I guess it's just a string of bad luck
But like Russell dating Ciara I don't give a fuck
Kanye owes me 300 bucks from his wealth
And my book about that shit is now on shelves
And every white rapper since 2001
Makes me feel like Doc Rivers cause I'm coaching my son
I'm done
[Chorus: Hot Karl]
It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you
Without some dope lyrics to step to
So I grabbed on a mic with a pen so I could write
It's like riding a bike, it's like riding a bike
Because it's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you
Without some dope lyrics to step to
So I grabbed on a mic with a pen so I could write
It's like riding a bike, it's like riding a bike
[Verse 3: Intuition]
It's kind of lonley, we only talking in my Twitter page
Hating on a cracker rap critic in a fit of rage
Sit center stage, sip gin and Minute Maid
Old hipsters stick dick to every single Tinder date
Smooth it out, more bass than a tuba snout
Daggering a brown-skin betty with her booty out
Loop the music 'til the YouTube user shout
"Hoody who the fuck are you and what is you about?"
I never knew, that's why I stayed middling
Living in Los Angeles, fucking with all them [?] chicks
It's no surprise that I'm down to date strippers
When my fifth grade crush's real first name was Cinnamon
Huh, I'mma leave that there
Being this self-aware shouldn't be that rare
Catch me in the club with a mean-ass glare
Because I'd rather be at home in a beanbag chair
It's real rap
[Verse 4: Abnormal]
Ralph Waldo Emerson's invisible eye
In the cart the high-top, fly, pelican, fly
Storm-born Targaryen, you barbarians
Then I take a piss on every graveyard they buried in
Psychopathic thoughts of a violent author
In the dark scribbling with a Pilot marker
I put a basket of roses on your casket as it close
While I'm cracking clams open in the back of Gladstone's
The American Werewolf is back home
Returned on the first full moon, you cast stones
None of y'all can touch the chi of the G
Nasty M.C. from the Caspian Sea
Demented, red-lining off the head
I'm out my fucking mind, kid, I'm off my meds
I'm like Marc buckwilding in the City of Sin
Love rhyming like them guineas love Vinnie The Chin
And I'm out
[Chorus: Hot Karl]
It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you
Without some dope lyrics to step to
So I grabbed on a mic with a pen so I could write
It's like riding a bike, it's like riding a bike
Because it's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you
Without some dope lyrics to step to
So I grabbed on a mic with a pen so I could write
It's like riding a bike, it's like riding a bike
