When the lyrics hit you, lay down and stay dropped;

Put you in the back of my vehicle bumpin j pop.

With seven other women and a full order of sonic;

Skeeerrrrrrt!
Don't even trip, homes. It's all platonic

But I'm phonetically sexual.
lech of the written word kind;

It's actually a problem
And it's poisoning my mind.

But if you were to deal with the day to day;

Methodical drop into an endless rhythm then you too would follow in kind.

Just to break the cycle. I'm not a gangsta but the rhymes are harder;

Than brothers overdosing on NyQuil.

Remain scared;

Because I'm closer to a state of emergency than Ukraine scares

Hitting levels of insane air.

Rappin against my crew ain't fair;

So you're better off bitin me like a hangnail.

Hang ten on the beat rhymes belong in asylums;

Violent kinda kid higher than Hazel crest pies.

Dressing in all violet

Flip the dude like parkour spittin classics;

My tongue and mouthpiece are reeking of burning acid;

You can try me easily and fail harder then Steve 'Harv at a beauty pageant.

My style is aggressive served with a sprinkle of passive;

Calculating the competition on a seventh grader math kick.

Mathematically how many different ways can I bake a g;

Lattice math turning all of you squares into matrices.

But I could feel a bit irregular lately;

Chop em all into a triangle and call it a scalene.

Let's play a game of who in 312 is most crazy.

Know your place;

When J Saturn on the board
Or the mic or the table
better pass the aux cord.

Know your place;

Turn a school or a bar or a house to a party when I reach the front door;

Know your place;

When J Saturn on the board
Or the mic or the table
better pass the aux cord.

Know your place;

Turn a school or a bar or a house to a party when I reach the front door;

Know your place;


When the wizard goes ballistic, duck;

I'm cold, you'd better stay out of my ice cream truck.

Beat you up in a game of lyrical bid whist;

Cut you off at the stomach like midriffs.

On my synthesizer hitting sick riffs
With James Gold;

On his saxophone alto gon' and hit the sick licks.

Are these rappers or pansies?

I turn the same pansies into rodents then I put'cha next to Sandy.

Tryna show cheek instead of spittin with passion;

I'll hit em with the one two Kung Fu grip action.

Pass it over to Four Limbs beat game is savage;

Then kick back with MLP Friendship is Magic.

No apologies, no regrets.
But if you try to touch the;

Coat you'll get scissor blade. Off wit'cha head.

Remaining all the doper
You can come at me fresh or stale;

Faded, sober, clean straight or doped up.

It still remains a win for the magic wand holder;

You wind up with a shiner and a dislocated shoulder.

The old soul done got a little older;

You claim to be a monster like Dracula.

But why ask for the Dracula when you could;

Have a rapping Bram Stoker?

The flag reads bang. The card reads Joker;

So get off of my court if you tryna save face.

When rappers are made of pink frilly lace;