- I’m ill with it. Fluid Lyricist style wild.
canya chill with it or do I have to drive
five fistfuls of knives into you your spine yo.
Don’t die cause I just started to rhyme.
I’m primetime television, brainwash elements,
Never settle for less cause I’m addictive, heroin.
Check the rhetoric, I’m better than
Sweater weather, that’s December,
Clever like the fellas in the sky,
that’s the etheric. And I’m the devil, bitch.
You can peep a dictionary, if you don’t get it.
I said it once before if you recall, so you’re indebted.
I won’t hesitate to resuscitate the dead, kid.

- Is this the chorus? don’t bore us with your whack adjectives
Can I live in peace and do what I want?
No additives? What about auto-tune?
Not for you, mothafucka
So get to doggo soon.
In Bloom, Cobain in his prime.
but y’all don’t get the message and it’s messin’ with my mind.
It’s time to get to steppin’, I’m not impressed with your intentions.
The way that you enslave your own brain shows bad reflection.

Tsujino: They say that when I pick a pencil, I'm too fuckin' disrespectful
like I have to be sentimental over every instrumental
even if it's shit that's mental, yeah cause I'm not sick but gentle
so if you tell me to tone it down I'll just fuckin' hit a level.

- And I’m on attack against the whack, I ain’t holdin’ back.
A backpack rapper with a track record of blowin’ stacks of O’s
An animal on the microphone, I suppose you didn’t know I wrote half the rap hyper-stoned.
Right a wrong and write a song about it,
shout outs to those who know not keep quiet.
Out of sight, I like to close my eyelids on acid and put my ego in the casket.

and mothafucka your rap shit.
I’m an arachnid, spittin’ smooth shit outta my ass and it’s still better than your average.
Raw like a package bomb inside an airport baggage.
Therefore, I damage.
Outlandish. I’d love a sandwich.
But I can make it myself, go sit down bitch.
I said go sit down, bitch.
Go sit down, bitch!
Can I switch it up? I need to say wassup
to everyone who knows I’m not a filthy schmuck.
This was a showcase of my pro ways with words and curses in no taste delivered to ya home base.
Delivered straight to ya mothafuckin' home base.

Tsujino: Look into the mirror, son. Can't you see you're lame?