[Intro]
Every time I'm on a track, it's a hit, man!
Black suit red tie, lyrical hit-man
Making songs of myself, rap Whitman
I withstand quicksand and the tips and

Welcome to the literary lion's den
Armed without knowledge, try again
Welcome to the literary lion's den
Armed without knowledge, try again

[Verse]
I give y'all crime and punishments
My rhymes are gathered in a hundred abundances
Y'all are Idiots and I don't want one bit of it
Notes from the underground tell me that it's intimate
Getting my JD on, who's the challenger?
I'm a mix of Dilla Jermaine and Salinger
I'm the Catcher in the rye but way to fly
I call the shots from up high, call it in the sky
These phonys are baloney with their testimony
I lay down the matrimony in harmony like the Tony's
Not talking pizza, but I've got piece of mind
Machiavelli status, tactical maneuvers so I'm hard to find
I'm the General in the Labyrinth, grab a bit
And the saddest wit generates the maddest hit
Singing carols about jabberwockys way stocky
Don't mind me, it's confidence and not cocky
The five MCs that you meet in heaven
Are inside of my headphones, already connected
God sent talent that makes me balance out well
I excel well. Tale of a heart, please do tell
Frost on this track, I'm the road less traveled
I unravel, dabble and realize I'm my only battle
I stay clever and above the weather so together
My rhymes are wetter and bright like scarlet letters
Residing in the house of the lyrics, get in the spirit
The patron with mucho tone, you better cheer it
Otherwise spend 100 years inside of solitude
Playing marbles, cards without anyone to bother you
A lonely depression as you seek a great perhaps
Well this mishap has landed you inside my lap
And your Great Expectations lose inflation
The duration is shortened like a Scottish Locations
Short with the bread, greenbacks, so you dread
My style is sickening: keeps you inside of bed
I'm great like Gatsby, don't ask me
Remain classy, don't sass me or end up in the past, B!
Mercutio flow so I go plague your abode
And in this mode I shall speak in the most ancient of code
Like the catastrophe of comedy
My cue is villainous melancholy, fa so la mi

[Outro] x2
Every time I'm on a track, it's a hit, man!
Black suit red tie, lyrical hit-man
Making songs of myself, rap Whitman
I withstand quicksand and the tips and