[Verse 1: Jonwayne]
It's the Wayniac, part-time brainiac
Part-time play me that beat right there
And I'mma take it back
To the magical rhymes for dollar signs
Your homies sittin back at the lab creating enzymes
Glad something came out of piles of dead mice
It's the nicest who be carrying more than the virus
It don't step or become one of my vices
An example of why 25 to life is the price that you pay
For a life in dismay
I mic what I say, then I site what I play
Since the days of a tike on a trike
I light one every time I find a beat that I don't like
And then I write to it in spite the bubblers and light bulbs
It's my cup of tea when the team's overseein me, you feel me?
My mob mentality instills me to write somebody's will
But never I get to kill it lord willing
I stay up in your mouth like a filling yall
They're just broke in the back, like Jake Gyllenhall
They can't carry that metaphysical weight
And think that physical weight can see 'em into the wake
Well that's great, but I ain't talkin' about murder
This shit is far worse, something you never heard'a
Cause if you did, then you wouldn't be hearing me
Just tearing on the floor screaming "oh god the tyranny!"
I know insanity wasn't part of the plan
But maybe then you can understand who I am, man
And where I'm coming from
The depths of the stem hem together
So the eggs can't be coming out the chicken hens
Cattle prodding, I'm high up on the saddle kid
So pick the man that you wanna be doing battle with
The wits of a mister never founded on his kisser
It's straight up in the eyes cause he could be telling lies like a child do
Throwing on a smile for you
Never knew he wore it last week on the way to school
But let me sit him down, now he looking like a
Clown head shifting on the cloud, bled stricken with the round-house
Kick, the thought of you is making me sick
Call the doctor, I'm bed ridden spittin' this shit
Chewing on a thermometer man I'm hot up in this bitch
Or is it I got you sweating underneath your fitted?
I'm gifted, Santa Claus carries me for Christmas
That is cause your bitch be putting me on the wish list
Well you can check it, I'm here to clean the messes
You're dealing with the bestest
With no one to impress cause I'm spitting that asbestos
That's why my genre mutates
Sometimes I'm feeling big enough to have two fates
You're too late for two-taking
You try to see the sunny-side up brotha
Laying next to two strips of bacon
I'm flying higher than my boy if he high sky diving
Rhyming on the way down over some dick climbing
I stick spies even trade demises with some sick guys
If they oblige the size of the opposition's side
Fuck
Dibiase's on the beat