Price Is Right

Mr. Marmalade, in a codeine sea of orangeade Blue magic dope orange beige I bring gats to K parties Part the waves Straight from Mars Spitting bars of flames I eat bars and barf on stage I got charm, arm in a sling My GH game is off the chain I sniff salts Grip hawks Cut off your chain Barrel like a broom handle Dust off your frame I feel like exes The way they get love off my name They all sucked off my fame My coven cloth; no cut cloth the same Hyped when I raise arms Like full Special Ed class attendants with ARs That super-grass flame sparked My brain is about as big as grapes are Cops get buried under state farms Hungry, my stomach's sounding like AR's So sedated I'm seeing eight arms My bio wet brain and dead cells I rep Hell, nod off red devil breath hell Rip seal off pack, chem' smell Take ovals, yellow and white egg shell O.D. rest well Lay back Let your mania thrown fits between themselves Synthetic bags on XL Sweat gels, my flesh, codones ringing head bells Soul so heavy it could walk my skeleton out itself I'm bored, in fact, I'm bored of rap All of my verses border that I want to be a bored young Jak Setting fires and dissecting the corpse of cats Fuck verses and chorus tracks I'm Heath Ledger right before the nap Bong attached to my face like a snorkel mask After my performance I leave a horse throat slashed