Some Days I Hate My Voice

Three-four frame, on my face I got paint

I look just like Jackie Shane back in 1968

Chasing chicken, but won't say how many checks is on the way

They'll label me "Class Traitor" 'fore I get a chance to pay

My fucking rent, we done hit a lick, industry a trip

Quiet kept **** on my shit, writers know the script

But it's diff when you too legit, this right here too bright to miss

We swinging for the fence, but I must admit

Some days I hate my voice, some days I feel like I'm the Metratron

Some days I'm basic, some days I'm dolled up like pageant debutante

Someday I'll have a closet full of tweed Chanel, pastel on my black self

Showed up like, "Can't these cats tell how to rap well?"

Ralph Lauren '92 fishtail, gully with the GripTil

Cocky in my Jacquemus, bet you want the **** still

You got on them platforms, okay, ****, big deal

Bandcamp tax forms breaded with no— ayo

Some days I got a S up on my chest

Gotta run them sound-alikes to get your point across, I guess

Like, "Oh my God, you remind me of 100 Gecs"

Well, I'm sorry gotta disagree, but shout out Laura Les

This Thomas and Guy-man, rap free hand, no mic stand

Can't re-write or typecast, can't bite that, it's hard rock, crack

Dope man, no spokesman, no radio and no Coke can in my hand

Breakfast Club program, direct that straight to the spam

Some days I hate my voice, some days I think I need megaphone

Some days my shit could use a couple semitones

Might bring that Black Flag back, ain't talking Raymond Pettibon

I'm talking team Fetti Gittz, but all in all we getting grown, easy

Shit, was thirteen with Visine

Had to put our flag on the map, this is my scene

Any **** want a problem, tell 'em come and find me

Gucci X-Ray Spex, bitch, I'm Poly Styrene, uh