Lotus Bootleg

Man I'm cooling off the vodka It's going straight to my medulla oblongata Shaking up my head like I'm chewing on maracas Living in the life that be written by Franz Kafka He opened up my chakras It's so surreal how my mind be like a soccer field I just kick it cryptically, my dome don the fitted these for centuries I adventure these, lyrically searing your hearing Bars walking tall cause they're made of manganese Yeah I'm a metalhead I let my axe chop until the hat drops Can't stop until I'm making level bread That means loads of it so I can feed the family That includes friends, friends of friends, and the faculty Man I'm a hungry beast someone better shackle me Before I tackle three of these pieces of Geez Louise skeezers I don't mean to undermine you I undermet you underground upsets that's trying to test the rhyme vessel Call me the SS Lemars, got you hyper-hating Bacon hyperventilating, seeing a mirage It ain't for the greater good, or for my neighborhood Look under my hood and you'll be seeing what the cause is It's my machinery, it's just how they built me They strapped me with so much artillery I could kill me And I'm on self destruct, man, who you fucking with When I blow up there better be some cover that you ducking with Kabooming too soon like how I'm blooming too soon Like how I'm zooming through tunes, the beats, the rhymes and the fumes What's the plan, man, my rhymes are handstands Going to the dome and blood flowing til you can't stand But can't stand it, I know my fans demand it And those fans that grow in the stands when I command it To the stans, I'm jamming like a gun if you're the bandit My music's quite different but you know they got to brand it Man I dare you to grasp the way I rap over tracks Or get the way I do laps around these wacker than thou rappers Acting like house cats, shitting in a box While I'm shifting in the box trying to make that shit knock Man I'm not done, if I am knock a couple back Until it's not fun, mouth like a single barrel shotgun If I grow angry then I'm making that ricotta And then I'll be the center like the number one blocker Cause nothing's getting hotter than that dough up in my wallet In fact it gets so hot it burns a hole in my pocket Cause the fake me causing friction with the real me Because in twilight my zone the infinite Cyanide bye byes to yesterday's tie-dyes and high fives All my styles last, man, I must be a nice guy But in reality a wise guy Rolling with the high profile wild and stylistic vice guys I'm snide when I left myself slide through the cracks Through the alley, out the scene and fade to black, sonny