I got this shitnI got thisnYeah, I was at your shownYeahnNo, I mean…nNo, I didn’t like itnNo, I’m just saying I was therennDoomtree!nFuck Cecil OtternFuck P.O.S.nFuck SimsnFuck Dessa or whatever the fuck she calls herselfnFuck ButterscotchnAnd Joe MabbittnFuck Alanis MorrisettennSlug:nSometimes I feel like a bastard surrounded by fathersnFashionin’ themselves to resemble action figuresnPassin’ opinions across the pasturenLike we asked younLike we have to have your last pieces gatherednLike it even mattersnLike we’re trying to climb this ladder a little bit fasternLike I’d rather let the captain lead us into disastern[Crash]nLike the bladder never adapted ‘til afternLike I won’t be the first rapper to send you to your plaster castersnnAnd after the new dawn is gonenMy name is SeannI don’t know, gonenBut my song’s in these couponsnI lost my soul and watched it drip down her futonnI found my god inside a bush that sprouts smoke bombsnNow I’m lookin’ for a word that doesn’t existnTo help describe the selfish pride that I hid inside this fistnWe’ve arrived to loosen up this noose that keeps us liftednAnd rip these stitches while I introduce this piece of shitnnP.O.S:nStand backnStand backnLet me be your targetnLet your bullet hitnI’ll handle thatnLet me see you flex aggressive ignorancenHalf these cats stagger without the common sense nto put on one foot in front of the othernHop! Trip! Slid into home base like you nplanned, rehearsed some kind of celebration dancenYou got tagged at first and kept runnin’nJumpin’ the gun for what you got comin’nHomie, no handouts ‘til the pitcher hits younYou’re actin’ like your stich is rippin’nnI got nothin’ but what my crew and open folks are bumpin’nTrustin’ and trust’. Feelin’ busted for trust and trust, so fuck it. nEverything else gets tucked under rugsn‘Til I get something like a crown of cats mumblin’ my wordsnShow me some heartnLet me tugnGive me a pound or a hugnGive me sound like a drugnHomie, just freebase beat nLife’s cheap, if you live it right, right?nIf your words are tight, right?nBrighten the head in the dark, right?nnSlug:nStand backnNo piggy-backin’ with the Mad MaxnA Minneapple Road WarriornGive me that hand clapnFrom the hatchback to Amtrak to aircraftnRansacked every city that the kids be at the Verb-O-MatnJumpin’ hurdles that you carried in your backpacknThe love curdles at the matchbook’s last actnLickin’ the stamp’s backnJust for physical flashbacksnThe time’s for writin’ rhymes to get my cats and my plants backnnThey tell me I deserve to be happy nownBut that doesn’t seem valid until we get rid of half of how manynAre doin’ nothing but suckin’ on flavorsnI’m tryin’ to edit the credits while they’re critiquin’ the trailersnSo I’m gonna rant like there’s somethin’ to saynI’m makin’ up my own dancenI’m gonna do it this wayn[Watch me]nAnd gonna try to take it all around the worldnWhile I’m out on tour, keep your hand off my girlnnP.O.S.:nSometimes I feel like a bastard son of where the fuck’s my fathernI could shatter shoulders like the chip got smashed of my glass at the doornWith shoes on and my coatnSo now I’m here againnI brought the clownnWe came to rock the boatnI hope you’re down down. You set ‘em upnI’ll set the bar and drive aroundnWe’ll let your style do the knockin’nHere’s a pen, go to town. nPaint it with big broad strokesnI’ll study your path and hope that your pride can take a jokenWhen I say “It’s dope. It’s dope” and laughnnMan, I’m pleased as shit to ask,n“How can I add you up, divide your crew, and still be horrible at math?”nNow answer that and stay fashionablenGo bash the bricks and stomp them Koopas, kidnThe princess still ain’t at this castlenMr. Of CoursenThe youngster horse from screamin’ on himnBut shit, I’ll toss the logics quick and drop my throwbacks on him nTurning teens into fiends from the beats to the bear hugsnI got the stuff that gets ‘em buyin’ up the ear plugsnnSlug:nClose up your earsnClose your holesnClose up your whole facenClose up your whole facenThis will melt your brain