[Verse 1: milo]
Check
King Cookie Face
Born of the Wookie race
Hedging beds at all local booking places
Forlorn glances at dirty faces
Spent a whole afternoon staring at the ceiling fan
Business card reads: You should kill the vocal thinking man
The role I play in this particular crew
They all say I'm far more niggerish Groo
The wanderer, milo's a ponderer
Pandering the undead dirtbag philosophers
Seraphim put the most hope in him
Been known my way around paraprosdokian
On the other hand I have different black fingers
Asked a homeless man: If I die, will my soul linger?
We spend the rap advance to buy the most off Etsy
Don't floss to test me, peanuts in hand
George Carver Punnett square mixed with Dostoyevsky

I don't feel I know myself too good these days
I don't feel I know myself too good these days
I don't feel I know myself too good these days
I don't feel I know myself too good these days

[Verse 2: VerBS]
Way more hoes to clutch
And way more souls to touch
The only real religion is fanaticism
We follow our golden ones
Ey, and God told me I'm a favorite, but
At the same time I could grow complacent
I got obligations and consolations
And now my whole damn body it feels adjacent, ah
Everybody just a template
If you really really wanna keep it simplis-tic
Still different but categories
Man in all sorts of damn genres of eccen-tric
Read shit in allegory
You know it gets real when keeping it real
Gaining some love then losing the feel
And all my solter [?] filters got me using a shield
And I'm a secret agent like I work for S.H.I.E.L.D
[?] cold switch when it swerve the field, of acting
Alright, I'm done