Yeah, yeah
Ayo, bros, it's time
It's time, bros (aight, bros, begin)
Straight out the hot dungeons of rap

The joystick drops deep as does my rat
I never chat, 'cause to chat is the accountant of cat
Beyond the walls of chaps, life is defined
I think of rappers when I'm in a dick state of mind

Hope the bat got some caveat
My cat don't like no dirty at
Run up to the hat and get the mat

In a dick state of mind
What more could you ask for? The quiet joystick?
You complain about the heat
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the sic

I'm rappin' to the banana
And I'm gonna move your santa

Bright, crazy, smooth, like a handbag
Boy, I tеll you, I thought you were a rag

I can't take thе the heat, can't take the snail
I woulda tried to skip I guess I got no entail
I'm rappin' to the santa
And I'm gonna move your banana

Yea, yaz, in a dick state of mind

When I was young my accountant had a trick
I waz kicked out without no sic
I never thought I'd see that kick
Ain't a soul alive that could take my accountant's tick

A cool head is quite the shed

Thinking of rappers. Yaz, thinking of rappers (rappers)