Intro

​"Let’s have some fun! Get your popcorn, enjoy the show."

​

Verse 1 (K-Blitz)

​Vanity must be at maximum, actually

Thinking that I would be yapping bout them,

When consistently spazzing on records I barely got time for Duets,

To address it and laugh at them.

Who do they think they is? What is the narrative?

3 digit listeners, nobody care bout you.

Cloaking don't fix what you’re missing in character.

You cannot lean on me, I will not carry you.

Scrimmaging, building my armamentarium,

Running back thoughts that you foster like Arian;

What you see as ocean is an aquarium.

Hoping you're big fish, 'cause I'm pescatarian.

Got no faith in your smoke, pastafarian.

Running up on number one, I will bury him.

Hoping he dumb 'cause I'm Darin' Em. Fair one or shut up, 'cause gossip embarrassing.

Guess you were always a b****, Mrs. Garrison.

One strike too many, so now there's no sparing him.

On the spot, if I see him it's a Wrap. Feel The Wrath of Khan, like I got Tech from Tartarians.

There's no comparison; these parables have them perishing.

What they're not seeing clearly is that they should fear

That I no longer care for them.

​

Chorus (The Hook)

​You've got no impulse control at all,

Fake as the characters that you draw,

Couldn't believe when I got the call,

Never be Krillin 'cause you would show Chi-Chi your Dragon Balls,

Biting my style like a moth,

(Sass: Raid will send you to a tomb, Lara Croft) This ain't a rock, it’s a Molotov,

And I ain't hiding hands, I'm waving at y'all.

​

Verse 2 (Sass)

​Richard talkin' riches but his wallet anorexic,

Peter shows expected — unsolicited, pathetic.

Predator tales, nah, that’s shame not scars,

Registry brand you, permanent bars.

Creep-ass clown, beggin’ for ma glance,

Consent said “no,” still pulled down your pants.

You ain’t a creator, just lurk, you wait,

Thinkin’ genius gon’ drip — truth it ain't.

Emptier than bottles that you drain on the low,

Call yourself a man, but receipts say no.

Dollar Menu math, but you toast with kings?

Liver writing letters while your phone still rings.

Closet full of sneakers? Coffins in rows, Souls stacked high, but no story grows.

Hell got your GPS, no escape,

Grim Reaper waitin’ this locked yo fate.

​

Verse 3 (K-Blitz)

​Habitual line stepper, being honest, already expected it

If you're looking for a piece of shit, he’s perfected it;

No need for scripts or directing him, irrelevant

I'm the main character, cut you out of the scene and embarrass you

Got a big head on yourself, but the only time you got ahead was when I carried you,

These shoes are for you, so go lace 'em up,

You're like Jordan in baseball—no air at all,

When around you all we smelling is b******* Got that disinfectant, bars on aerosol,

When I wasn't there you didn't care so prepare all your troops

'Cause the roof I'm gon' tear it off,

All alone, insight fear like a Terror Squad

Causing shade by your own hand—parasol