Lotus Bootleg
Man I'm cooling off the vodka
It's going straight to my medulla oblongata
Shaking up my head like I'm chewing on maracas
Living in the life that be written by Franz Kafka
He opened up my chakras
It's so surreal how my mind be like a soccer field
I just kick it cryptically, my dome don the fitted these for centuries
I adventure these, lyrically searing your hearing
Bars walking tall cause they're made of manganese
Yeah I'm a metalhead I let my axe chop until the hat drops
Can't stop until I'm making level bread
That means loads of it so I can feed the family
That includes friends, friends of friends, and the faculty
Man I'm a hungry beast someone better shackle me
Before I tackle three of these pieces of Geez Louise skeezers
I don't mean to undermine you
I undermet you underground upsets that's trying to test the rhyme vessel
Call me the SS Lemars, got you hyper-hating
Bacon hyperventilating, seeing a mirage
It ain't for the greater good, or for my neighborhood
Look under my hood and you'll be seeing what the cause is
It's my machinery, it's just how they built me
They strapped me with so much artillery I could kill me
And I'm on self destruct, man, who you fucking with
When I blow up there better be some cover that you ducking with
Kabooming too soon like how I'm blooming too soon
Like how I'm zooming through tunes, the beats, the rhymes and the fumes
What's the plan, man, my rhymes are handstands
Going to the dome and blood flowing til you can't stand
But can't stand it, I know my fans demand it
And those fans that grow in the stands when I command it
To the stans, I'm jamming like a gun if you're the bandit
My music's quite different but you know they got to brand it
Man I dare you to grasp the way I rap over tracks
Or get the way I do laps around these wacker than thou rappers
Acting like house cats, shitting in a box
While I'm shifting in the box trying to make that shit knock
Man I'm not done, if I am knock a couple back
Until it's not fun, mouth like a single barrel shotgun
If I grow angry then I'm making that ricotta
And then I'll be the center like the number one blocker
Cause nothing's getting hotter than that dough up in my wallet
In fact it gets so hot it burns a hole in my pocket
Cause the fake me causing friction with the real me
Because in twilight my zone the infinite
Cyanide bye byes to yesterday's tie-dyes and high fives
All my styles last, man, I must be a nice guy
But in reality a wise guy
Rolling with the high profile wild and stylistic vice guys
I'm snide when I left myself slide through the cracks
Through the alley, out the scene and fade to black, sonny