Mid-range lo-fi high-concept
Kid’s brains don’t like my concepts
Flip flame flow fly find progress
No game no life no contest

Fuck yo -- who that boy, why he rap
Well I guess I’m tryna be just like my boy ytcrack-
Er, I’m calling him my boy, but he’s not, so in fact
I’m myself, other cats prolly won’t write me back
Augh, peep the declaratory distinction
Fuck a label, this is just rap territory distinction
Class-time teacher can hand-garrote delinquents
The last five surviving can damn inherit my inklings

Getting indie on the lo-fi shit
But if a person fucking with me I’ma blow right quick
And I’m perpetually busy but I don’t quite quit
Cus I got no time for dealing with a no time ish
You bitchin ‘bout the game’s how I bitch about the Hugos
The kids amount to lames gettin clicks about the UFOs
I’m rude though, Moody Blue flows like I’m Fugo
Cruising through notes - I was growing up on Kabuto

Writing out the type of shit that’s printed on demand
If you wanna do collabs then I’m spitting in my hand
Happy if you’ll have me and pissy if you won’t - oh
Kick it in a dojo, miss me with the dough jokes
Straight bumping with the trumpetous zeal
Half the time I argue shit like whether numbers are real
Not a plus when it’s sorta hard to sum what I feel
But smiling when they say the game’s dead and blood has congealed

I like literature, not Jane Austen
I’m into integers and not lame sophists
Magic cylinder to solve game problems
A cynic sinecure, the dogs stay novice
Cats crowd around, give em constant acknowledgement
Buys own hype, yeah, he’s falling for all of this
Adversary type, and my gall is impolitic and few
Know me like I’m Herzegovinan politics

Probe meridian, yeah I know it’s -govinian
I get most of the idiots in a roast like Davidians
And I wish I could keep a Dymaxion sleep schedule
Rapping for cheese, keep it rapid release, hence
No one’s gonna prevent me from rhyming it maybe on beat
Waxing abstract while I’m lying back on the concrete
Deadhead mess SFX def excess
I read SFF FFS

GPA fulla As, guy seems so NEET
Check a chess rank, more a high C, low B.
Cus I suck at openings and endings and midgames
I’m only coping with contending with misnames
Uh, misnomers, no Jacob, a kid sober
Bringing technicolor dreamcoat shit when I flipped over
The dude’s a big loafer in a pair of big loafers
HELLO WORLD prints out my mouth when I spit toner