[Prod. Romil & Dom McLennon]

[Verse 1: Dom McLennon]
I look at clocks while I'm dreaming and feel illiterate
Tripped into a lucid state; now I'm hitting barbiturates
Crip walking on cloud nine, aware and ignorant
Misfit of the genesis with emphasis, demolishing pretentiousness
Copped a holy grail from the App Store
Sipping enthenogens out of the cup of Jesus then
Rolling with the cleanest kin, expressing these dreams within
So tell me what you're reading into, hmm

[Verse 2: Kevin Abstract]
Reading The FADER mag, I’m glad that I’m not in it yet
I’m not finished yet
I think that double-X-L post had some n***as geekin'
Frequently I’m seeing my n***as who live far away, I travel a lot
I’m seveenteen and I don’t babble a lot
Unless it’s on social media, awkward disease
I was gifted with, shit, if you consider it that
Pale bitches or you know, African, Black
Only way that I like 'em, writing gems down
Chilling outside of Sky’s house
With who is now my kin, wow, weird shit
I’m cool though, black kids at school, though
Starting to fuck with me, they think I’m getting money, really I’m just spending money, personally broke as fuck
But in the 90s my ma lucked out, fuck
The American dream right? Smell like a teen right?
Top down screaming out wait til I get my cream right
Oww, now let that shit breathe
You think you killing me? Don’t view you as an enemy
My aspirations getting bigger
Sister sippin evil, liquor in her liver
Label thrown on me, n***a, n***a, n***a
Remove the power from the words dawg
That’s what my idols say
Momma tell me to remember what the Bible say
But honestly, my life is turning to a tidal wave
I’m losing my place reading this page
They say pace, pace, pace boy it’s all about pacing
It’s all about making, all about creating
Weekends spent in basements
Slaving over a motherfucking statement to the world
Middle finger to the 'burbs
Too much judgment going on 'round here
I'ma pack up my bags and chase a dream for a year
Doing whatever it takes to get my point across clear
And clearly this the shit y’all ain’t tryna hear
[Verse 3: Dom McLennon]
So, back to the regularly scheduled bullshit
Blasting off a ray gun with a full clip
And aiming it at the sky, hoping to shoot the moon
Metaphors for moments where I jumped too soon
Or too late, it's too great
Time is relative when your lobes inside your skull are split
In separate dimensions and you're still connecting all the dots
Don't worry if you don't follow, I get that shit a lot
Pulling til my fingers hot, my totem is off it's top
Wonder what would happen if I shot a cop by accident
And if the reaction would be the same if opposite
Contemplating with all of my conglomerate, I say that a lot
But did you hear the first verse? Yeah, we make that a lot
Blazed off a couple cash crops, but really though
Got my feet on the edge of the flat world
And I'm feeling like Columbus
Let me go explore and I can run this
Pupils gone from all of this fungus
Represent for those among us who reside on the outskirts of elsewhere

[Verse 4: Dom McLennon & Kevin Abstract]
Kick in the door with the gun waving
I'm playin', baby, that's a piece of my imagination
My world's more American McGee than Disney
Middle finger to the coppers screaming, "Come and get me"
Bumping Nas so I can blaze a 50
Ah, my n***a bumpin Nas
We on that old Wayne shit bumpin "A Milli"
Fucking silly to think but at the end of the day
I probably would grow more in my afterlife
Than you would breathing
What is the reason? I can't believe this
This fucking feeling
Stay concealing it but