cordae missed the point harder than a shard addict in rehab
gotta accrue your funds to give to christian louboutin, you fucking scab
gotta give some on to guccio gucci and louis vuitton
gotta turn shitty brand names into a fucking antiphon
and drive commercialism deeper into the hip-hop community
and use dolce & gabbana silencers at every opportunity
i guess with your icy wrists and whips so foreign
it's easy to measure your net worth in H&M and ralph lauren
is this really what you want? pills, whips and thots,
lean, xan and pot, fucking percs and alcoholic shots?
gotta distill, package and pawn for consumption by the hoard
cause this utter whitewash's the driving force behind selling records
made a mockery of sacred cows, sorta like a slaughterhouse
seeking reactions that even joe budden couldn't fucking rouse
throwing punchlines that pusha t couldn't telegraph
destroying all in my path, dre couldn't see through the aftermath
forgive me lord metalface, for i have sinned
i've watched satan personify into the guise of all our kings
he's laced all drugs with fentanyl and clipped every weightless wings
while controlling each my limbs with vodoo and hidden strings
keeping the masses sedated through sociopolitical taxation
and reforming all the revolutions into a pathetic half-rotation
he's taken saville and r.kelly and dressed them deep in armour
and assigned materialism as this generation's personal martyr
which is fine i guess...
since everything's turned commercial and it's all fucking pop now
synth and trap drums become hip-hops new sacrificial cash cow
lyricism is dead, cole's conducting the post-mortem
astrally projecting his findings through genius' internet forum
rap's red soviets slowly sharpening their bayonets
to cut the heads off our GOATs and stitch back together as a baphomet
to perform some sort of ritual, to save us just in time
to not suffer another generation of takashi69s, yeah
i hope you all wither into a feverish state of decay
while demonstrating to youth how to most efficiently fuck their lives away
and write some bars about cause that shit will make you hard
keep licking your fucking wounds until the skin has deformed and scarred
slit your wrists with broken pipes you've used to get high
and stitch together the plastic bags to try and warm yourself at night
so you can make it real appealing for the kids, idiots and drop-outs
everything secondary to your insufferable strive for clout
as progressive as shekau stopping child suicide bombers
as self-aware as james holmes in a threesome with elliot rogers
but you can do it better and maybe commit suicide successfully -
preach your manifesto through faulty frequencies and melodies
and take no advice unless it's got an 808 and it's vulgar
appropriating the internet's self-deprecating meme culture
build walls around yourself, stockpile hand-grenades and moltovs
and prepare for the dip from your inevitable fucking fall off
please shoot me in the head during my first american tour
deify me like biggie, L, proof and tupac shakur
names in my mouth but i can't wash away the taste
of the injustices over bass and snares we constantly create
all the 808s and numbness hidden behind a lack of substance
and glorify behaviours that are utterly self-destructive
hip-hop's fore-father aren't angry, they're just really disappointed
the only silver lining is that kendrick's already anointed
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