[Part 1: Lynch]

Verse 1:
Got these drugs fucking with my mind again
Got me talking out of line again
Got me talking on the same shit again
Got me feeling like the shit again
I'm saying fuck rhyme flows and schemes
My only scheme is to make white pussy scream
As that fucking beat drops
If Tyler can make a quarter mil selling socks
Maybe I can make diamonds out of rocks
And rock em tighter than this offbeat flow I'm speaking in before I let the drum roll

Verse 2:
Hear that heartbeat louder than these coke heads with Tourette's
Reaching for her heart said she got Cardiac Arrest
Chill little mama I'm just tryna palm your breast
Underneath that denim vest
You rocking Wu Tang shirts but can't tell me bout Inspectah Deck
Wow I'm off as shit
Let me get back on it
Let me contemplate regrets
I'm fucking with these white girls smoking all of dem cigarettes
Tryna nut on assets in the back of her daddy's corvette
And in a minute she'll soon be consuming my navy cadets
Verse 3:
Spit shit worth more than the clothes Ben got feeling thrifty
Nastier than a Budnick in a White People Activities
Name dropping obscenities got the headshots on Kennedy
Jeopardy catogory, top rapper and it's Mr G
I'm rapping like an Olzenak or a fucking C-Murder
Causing random beef coughing Micky D hamburgers
But fuck a beef when your competitions act religiously vegan
Plus the score is uneven so fuck a rhyme

[Part 2: Windchime]

Got that Mangekyou in my third eye my visions kinda black
Broadway and Myrtle, 50 shades darker than my brand of cognac
(YAWK YAWK YAWK YAWK)
I'm schoolboy q missing hella stacks
Praise be to Ganesha wordplay for days fat like Arethra's rack
Fat like the Raws I'm Twisting on Akira's ass crack
Fat like the n***a rolling round inside that maybach
Fat like the lips on an Odd Future spitter
Fat like the gut on that lemonade rapping n***a
I'm that blood that Christ mustered on all them splinters
I'm shit you despise, the shiver in Minnesota's winter
Hashtag I ain't shit
Hashtag I can't spit
Hashtag I got attention for using terms only on the twit
Ol Chance the Rapper looking ass
Got no award made out of brass
Got no cash to spend on grass
But everyday I'm smoking recording and skipping class
Brain slow as molass-es, lungs full of Rez and ashes
Teeth getting gritty from angry gnashes
Fist getting bloody from all these gashes
Yet to hit my pinnacle, but I'm feeling like I'm Cassius
Dribble jail cells to the masses fuck white people n***a fascist
Fashionist word to my n***a Du oh wait I mean Naf Simons
Can't mess with corny gringos but I'm tryna fuck their women
Words toxic like the Sea of Japan
Or when I exhale that cann-abis
Miss bitch we don't fuck with mids or even cat piss
Sour by the hour and my watch is out of power
Got 12 hands on every number I'm never quiting on green flowers