Lyrics: Rory Ferreira
Music: Wylie Cable
From a land of famine and chaos
Where after disaster strikes we beg to State Farm
The ever-living, hair-splitting
I assure you it's more captivating in person
The more I become a person, the more the pain worsen
All them years spent in stone, suppose it was a whole life
The very feat in itself classic as Old Spice
I hold tight; even cling at times
I spit it like we sitting cliffside with thΠ΅ chalice
Callous as I be set to trap doors
To Π΅nsnare any rat living in fast forward
Cash bounty betrayed for a penance, it was astounding
Remittance accounting, heads were mounted on study walls
Isolated meaning no phone or buddy calls
I was left to my own vices
I was left to my own vices
I come at it from behind
I'm thematic with my mind
[?] bending time, or rather bending corners
I simply write the rhymes
I'm the court reporter
Order is disease, ease is the coroner
The beast is opponent and both staunch supporter
You can see why some people become hoarders
It makes one clench and clasp
Then she said, he said, "What a funny question for a wench to ask"
But I missed the punchline, doing mental math
To see if I could spare a laugh
And that's the true nature of anticipation
It took boundless leaps
It took away an uncertain amount of me
It took lots of sleep
Pounds of weed and acquired the utmost
The regrets keep biting my small toes
The weight made your teeth grind and powder-coated our lips white
I hate hearing the word 'pressure'
And anyone who aspires to be greater without first learning how it felt to be lesser
It ruined generosity
Lopsided, Invictus, from her naval to the citrus
Made this beat with a tank of propane
Rappers rank to profane in native tongue
Zero then one
Native tongue
Zero then one