I’m a wack rapper; no naps, but stay sagging
Reluctant backpacker, lips chapped and still ragging
Mad hard, check the threads; swag’s post-apocalypse
Sad, charred lawns keep my head dark: new NOx eclipse
My mind’s blown, but only cuz I burn the green gases
Take some moonshine home; mix it in an urn with the hashish
Put on my glasses, a few teeth gnashes as I grind my jaws
In the lab brewing potions, fnck the workshop, Mr. Claus
Cut my claws and test another elixer
Delicious. I think this monster’s ready for the office mixer.
It’s hard being a magician in an age of Moe Nagic
So tragic, what’s missing is a few cold habits
I’ll pull a couple gold rabbits and leave ‘em on the sidewalk
Couple coppers can save silver bullets for some white chalk
And stuff some jalapeno poppers. Pull it back, who needs space?
No astronauts here, lemme lead you back to the race.

i’m a faggut —Wawa