You're the type to get butthurt over a simple gay joke,
You're like a pimple on a dyke while her sister takes pokes,
And I don't have to be Khalifa to make paper smoke,
I'm asking you to fear the reaper, so take Shiela, bloke,
Take notes, cause I'm the man that's got a brand new plan,
So put your hands and clap together for the grand true scam!
Now look, my hooks are known to hang fools by a noose,
Like how books took me over these brutes to a booth,
I read the dictionary religiously, and now I'm like a missionary,
So if Mary's of the Trinity, then I'm seemingly the fiction fairy,
The world needs a scribe, because these guys are filled with lies,
Like those girls who act so nice, when by surprise they change like night,
Society's like a car with doors ajar and the tires gone,
And unsurprisingly your jaw is swollen, now how's that for firearms?
I'm a kid who's got vendettas against the bitch I can't remember,
But I wish that didn't prevent us from winning this shit like old Mandela.
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