Warning

Warning This rap is Intoxicating and habit forming Foreign To any rapper unable to rhyme with Orange and Players steady asking how Drew D Stays stackin' mad chips A good magician never reveals How he does his magic Y'all think your dragons breathin' fire But more Komodos I'll burn a few forests and completely destroy the ozone Drop me into the Indominus enclosure promptly I'm trying to get my protein Cause I ate all of my broccoli You're mimicking The doppelganger Cloning all the copies Thinking that you're tough shit Till I leave your fucking body Approach you in a blizzard With the outfit of a shaman Wearing the predators of nature I ate like ramen Crack your skull like whack-a-mole Just tomahawking noggins A beating heart Is probably the last thing We have in common Deck you in the jaw To make your face plant End up eating dirt I'm flyin from outside of space And that's what makes it Even worse Combustion upon arrival My rivals Feel the heat for sure About to obliterate my opposition When I meet the earth I'm a do to you What chippers do To little dead trees Separate your body parts like Moses did the Red Sea Hungry for another kill When I can let my pen free I'll be unloading on beats Until my clip is empty Countless composers Cannot compare to my cranium Come and witness How I spit shit like it's Liquid vibranium I propose you posers Prepare to get hit by Five stadiums It's the shit that gets the party lit So listen and play me son Warning This rap is Intoxicating and habit forming Foreign To any rapper unable to rhyme with Orange and Vanquish any vile vermin Standing in vicinity I will be buzzing past a Light-year Way beyond infinity Simple see These similes Are symphonies To signal scenes Inside your mind Like Stitch it seems As if you're singing with NSYNC On a cloud around a crowd It brings A feeling of brilliance, skills, and things Spittin' rounds Makin' different sounds Gotta hit the ground When I get around Set em down When I run it out Gutter mouth Boutta put a bomb in your house On the couch, on the count 3, 2, 1 I could be a little bit cocky But what I'm not be Some kind of copy Rapping all choppy With a hot beat and an oxy In a block scene where the glock gleam Solely intended for mockery I'm so sick of all this hy-poc-racy Admit it that you're really not a G Admit it that you're really not a G Admit it that you're really not a G Admit it that you're really not a G Admit it that you're really not a G Admit it that you're really not a G