Cats don't want to see me looking for the remote
I blast them off screen like a game when you reload
I jump through the TV, hook 'em with the steelo
Attract the offbeam, insane with the repo
I'm puffing Ls with the L of steel in my rear pocket
And pop it in the crowd when I rock it
Feeling dirty cause you wanna watch it
Then feeling nerdy cause you wanna cop it
Then hop the train when the wagon is attached to the back
Then laugh at the assholes who backtrack
For tracks I made back when I was wack
Tell 'em, and give 'em hell when I sell 'em
The fake fame cause I'll be the name that they're yelling
As I gel with my felons in the hell cellar
These new dudes want the 101 like de Vil Cruella
I'm a good fella, I used to shine shoes
Now I make tunes for dudes that snooze in the afternoons
Yeah this is for my thinkers
Not necessarily the type to wake up in the morning for the reefer
Cats better smell the Folgers before I fold ya
Like old clothes, get empty pockets and a broke nose
I'm the equivalent to licking your elbows
Or sniffing them pale rose or stripping on Melrose
Cause I'm an impossible rush of identity
Lending me my aesthetics for the credit of bettering me
And as the fat lady sings, I'm still in the ring
Stinging like a smack from your upbringing
Tweet that, and let your homey see that
They need a recap of the G that
Knows where to draw the line like a G-strap
And the proper place to put it is erase it
Fuck boundaries, let your mind roam and lace it
The rhyme zone is wasted on the cats getting basted
With the straight edge retraced it, replaced it where I erased it
Man you're fucking up my progress
Cause you don't wanna admit you're falling off like a prom dress
You're just a rhyming zombie who vomits embalming
Went from romping pompous to common psalms
I'm honest when I talk this, most vets have nothing left to promise
But a nostalgia harvest for carcases
Bargained by the targets that get split like wigs made of shag carpet
Can't spark it with the marks that's a bad market
Promising that this rap shite is a part of me
I'm baptized in an army of sliced arteries
And re-emerging as a spiritual virgin
Lyrical purging, got both our pinnacles merged in
Ventricle murking, might need a medical surgeon
On our roster to get the monster's tentacles working
The dark horsemen are marked by the corpses
Endorsed by the damage we plan to set our course in
Stacking corpses