"No...why..."
Ah, ah, ah! (This is, the padded room, this is, a padded room)
Why is everyone so mad?
[Chorus ft. lyrics from "Lone" by Tyler, the Creator]
"Domo roll another one" (yeah, motherfucker!)
"I'm just f///in' with you I ain't smokin' none" (what the fuck?)
"My squad bring terror, no intended pun"
"Merch booth made niggas extensive funds" (ch-ch-chang)
"Momma got the Rover with the Range
"She don't ever ever gotta struggle, not again
And I put that on my dead grandmama's name (rest in peace)"
(Bush did 9/11!)
"Too soon...unh"
[Verse 1]
They claim they want talk sex ‘n God, space-science, art, maybe magic
And honesty, but when possess these qualities, honestly think you batshit
Like, yo, what’s happenin’?
You want society to change, but won’t be the first to take a step?
It takes sobriety to waste for you, for your worth to ever rep?
I wanna find a mind like mine, but ain’t find any patience left
These racists right, ever-hopeless, cuz my daddy’s side
Speak fascist, why? Never told you pain only reason to write?
I want to prevent others from living lives like mine
Or yours
Patty-cakin’ with my rabid side, he says out mirror, he past due
I promise he’ll be out, be few, when we take off tier, or two
Affluence got ‘em Jewish, ‘n naming debauchery after populations
Just watch me ,in lost relations; I built a rocket to opulence
Casing up law troubles, cuz for that all: can’t burst that bubble
From burnt rubble, I rise, walk on ice egg shells, subtle
Walk to up man in five, who planned demands on genders and colors
Tie to fender, burn rubber, ten minutes for every word he utters
Hmm…why despise this treatment?
He’s not going in a grave, he’ll get a motherfucking mausoleum
But I’m just brazy I be slim
Bragging bretty good health and bros who brought Percocet-10
Course brutes be brownnosing, cuz these bravos I be getting
Ugly blood I sure be letting
Read letter I be sending, the second I have your address, cuz your bullshit, I’ve took note
'Til then, here’s an open one
Can’t complain about Ace when it’s not what I wrote
Mewling for Youtube instrumentals like the Kiggy truly lost his mental, yo
Ah...
[Chorus]
"Domo roll another one" (another one!)
"I'm just f///in' with you I ain't smokin' none" (DJ KHALED!)
"My squad bring terror, no intended pun" (you loyal...)
"Merch booth made niggas extensive funds"
"Momma got the Rover with the Range"
"She don't ever ever gotta struggle, not again" (no, no, no)
"And I put that on my dead grandmama's name (rest in peace)" (ya, ya)
"Too soon...unh"
[Verse 2]
Roll with clean version; if you maybe haven’t noticed, I don’t swear
Won’t catch quotes where I dare guarantee anything
If you searching clothes down, for badge of service
I’m gonna be asking where that warrant be
And for all, these pervs, who done, sold out, I
Put the hurt on their merchants
Merlin ain’t burden shit, against this turgid insurgent
So full of it that I’m burping, expectant, like I’m girthing person
Girls reversing their purse when, I ask for a damn stick of gum
Do not disturb, or concern, I just prefer to have fun
With the rest of my evening, dessert being that first course
Solid walls never sleeping me, bit more grit in my perco
Take a sip, then I spurt home, by my lips, a concerto
All lone and twitch, like Roberto
Just know that, bitch, I’m on turbo
So much dirt, high turbidity, but no impeaching, no ridding me
Believing in themselves was such a silly thing…
Though I guess I did, now look at status, what I do
Can’t tell if sarcasm, or speaking truth
Truth is
Not really reaping loot
Least not when I wrote this, April ten, ten from ’06
Have first four Rësümé recorded, but two tapes making stowage
And I just want my expression, you know this…
I want be carefree, like la-la, I want a lady like Gaga
I’ll call her dolly, like llama, I’ll cop her green, like iguana
I’ll take a fly to the plaza, my weight on plane make it faster
I bite some flows, hope no drama; fans bet I sweat like sauna
Poke my drums, la-la-la-la, I a rapper, not a pastor
Watch me stunt on these askers: one word replies like “ha-ha”
Then ask for a ride home, but world just driving me gaga…
...
Slither, feet, like a naga
Withered dreams, are, disaster
Smith a new knife, no after
Got me rapping…on motherfucking elevator music!
(Ay!)
(Hand on my dick by default!)
