Verse 1

Hell yeah
reporting live from my apartment room for
a couple of years now, in the same sperrys as Martin Luther (Jr.)
pullin' rabbits outta my hat, watch me jump outta my Lac
imaginary one, 'cause in real life, I'm drivin' this Nissan
a 2007, missin' hubcaps, I ain't about the flexin'
want my technique wit' the ladies, then find the Jim Halpert section
it's no pam on my pots, n I ain't one to spam a lot
just put my name on the moon, 'cause these knights talkin' bout cam-a-lot
I want MC Hammer's spot and Justin Hammer bots
my shrunken kids inside a lady's mouth like Rick Moranis plots,
that's chauvinistic, in all honesty 'cause all I need is one
wit Beyonce's hips, Nicki's lips, an anteater tongue
wit a soul as beautiful as her body, stop lyin' I'm as single as that
fat chick, cryin' while eatin' ice cream and some Pringles
the black Christopher Cringle, but my gift's a bunch of bullshit
that I thought up one night, drivin', when I throw on my brights
I see the corner of my bedroom

Y'all don't quite understand, my air mattress needin' some headroom
and to get this mic and my setup I sold some family heirlooms
or close to it, this is like Cassius Clay and Joe Louis
before whatever fame I may get, imma go insane on my clips
ejaculate my frustration, drawin' my name on her tits
in third grade versions of cursive, my script been tight since time tables
ain't no rapper, my superpowers don't reside in labels
and likewise, I don't need to work for Starbucks to get bagels
stamina everlastin', bitch I been blastin' my kegels
exhalin' fire on these beats, to keep liars discreet
share my joy and my misery, then take pliers to feet
king of the stevens, recordin' my spiels, y'all Seagal
the talent outta rap, ain't talkin' bout no boom and bap
this shit the future and the past, the concept everlastin'