[Verse: Sir Skitzo]
Look, sick of being hostile
I'll be smoking 'til I cough bile
I could invest into the stockpile
Instead of hoping that I'm gonna make it big off "Pop Style"
I'mma sauce it hot, like Waka Flock
The album dropped, and died like a baby on its softened spot
But, now, I'm mopping slop
Hold up, let me just stop to chop
My style is pop with a pile of pot
They say that they're rich, they stole Lionel's spot
Fuck do you mean? Your lyrics are lame
Covering Drake, trying to attract in some fame
Say, and you think that you can rap hot
You're as useless to the game as a mascot
Hit 'em faster in the face with a slapshot
Half-pussy and half-bitch; CatDog
Better cool him down, he's only getting hotter
Get this man some ice or a large glass of water
Bitches call me Daddy, but I know they're not my daughter
I'll take that shit to Maury just to prove I'm not the father
Fuck what I'm doing, I'm oozing in fear
The fact that I'm choosing my life or career
My time is close, I'm assuming it's near
What I'm pursuing will finally appear