[Intro]
Chi-town to LA
Stand up
Scrub Life
Beach Squad!

[Verse 1: Wax]
Los Angeles tour guide for The Palmer Squares
Eye of the tiger like shades a kid at Auburn wears
Does a vulgar bear shit in the woods?
Same answer if you ask me if my spittin' is good
An un-astounding guess – a resounding yes
Music lovers bump me and they start frowning less
They find inner peace
And they wake up with their chis in balance
Their sex lives improve they start to skeet in gallons
I have a hard time being challenged
They bring beef but it feels like I'm eating salads
They spitting hard but it sounds like I'm hearing ballads
Bravo, you have the opposite motto as DJ Khaled's
Sick like my dick gets scabs
I'm from Maryland though, I really miss crabs
Dick grabs to the dick that's how your bitch grabs it
You could say this shit is like a chick magnet
But, I'm tryna find a woman that comes without stress
Always fly baggage-free like Southwest
Pussy good but her mouth best
First place ribbon Nathan's women division contest
But I ain't obsessed 'cause I'm 'bout progress
Only when the world's complete did God rest
Amen
Amen A meant it again amen
[Verse 2: Acumental]
Yo it's the immaculate amazing always pushing the envelope
Rampant double agent in the bush with a telescope
Hella dope, get hyped when I rock shit
Life is aquatic
Spike the concoction
Find me intoxicated cutting the sequence
Puffing a tree forever stuck in a pretense
I'll pummel the defense and jet past the goal line
I'm steadfast you posers been dead last your whole life
My crew's sadistic
Abuse a highfalutin nitwit
The rhyme is too consistent
Kinda stupid in'it?
I'm a human dictionary
Shit is sick as dysentery
Visionary though it's true my intuition varies
Pardon my wordiness but lately I been curious if anyone can market tight verbiage
Got the impeccable vocabulary
Head for the doors
Settling scores when I execute my adversaries
Palmer Squares break bread with the son of Sam
Gonna cram eight heads in a duffel bag
'Cause right about now I'd like to lock the block down, hot sound
Rocking high on psychotropic compounds
Bet you couldn't find anyone cooler
Pff, anyone, anyone (Bueller)
When we come through better run for the exit
Check it, one two then I wreck shit
[Verse 3: Terminal Knowledge]
I'm no Leroy Brown but I'm bad, bad
Jimmy Croce spit bam bam Bigalow heat
I'mma steal your crown, a grand slam hitter
I simply won't tap dance the man tan tippy toe
Stand like Thibodeau
Sleep with an open eye
Head for the bed and all I reach is the floor beside
The most wanted, stoned hophead at the post office
Terminal Knowledge, turning no profit
It isn't in me to be unsuccessful
But it seems to be the industry's like swimming in a fucking cesspool
Look further, I'm coming straight for ya
Book burner done taking orders, Good Burger
Piff for sale, nuggets on a digi scale
Split the dutch twist the blunt like a piggy's tail
We're not kids no more but we're probably meddlin'
Y'all better watch what you tellin' 'em, stop yellin'
He cannot spit 'cause he ain't got any melanin
Call me Donny 'cause I'm out of my element
If need be my team hit the scene and deregulate it
Legislative when I put the pen to paper
Glass-Steagall, bad music for bad people
Mad love from LA to San Pedro
Don't stop burning, so hot, inferno
Term make the kernel go pop like a damn weasel