Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked
I'll celebrate with my friends after hooking up with a girl

Quick buck, maybe a gold chain
I can earn money easily and buy material things

With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men
My rap flow is so good that it makes other men feel inferior

They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished
People are intimidated by me and avoid me when I'm done rapping

Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen
I am emotionally detached and don't care about other rappers

The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it
I don't fit into any single category, but if I had to choose, it would be 'menace'

In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit spit
Even my harshest critics and interns have to admit that my rhymes are great

It just burn like six furnaces writ it
My rhymes are so hot, they burn like six furnaces

It affixed learning them digits, and simultaneously
I'm making money from this music while also learning new skills

"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn't he?"
People used to think I was a one-trick-pony, but now they know better

One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy
I'm still young, but I have the energy of six grown men

And crawling down fax like a rich nigga centipede
I'm making my way to success slowly, like a rich centipede

Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account
I'm not afraid to break things and take people's money

Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out
People mess with me at their own risk, because I am like the Kraken

Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off
I'm causing chaos, like rice crispies popping in a bowl

Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga
People should be afraid when they see me coming, because I'm Earl Sweatshirt

('87 roof top, Bronson Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic (Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) (Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose)
I used to cruise around in an '87 car trying to find weed, and when I rap, it's powerful enough to knock someone's teeth out

Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop (Rolling with that flow swamp) Catch me over stove top (Rapping to that coke rock) (Passionless in old Jive clothing With them doors wide open) (Dim the floor lights, focused) Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch
I'm not a snitch, I make music while cooking drugs and wearing old clothes, I'm focused on my work, and I don't care about anything else

From a city that's recession-hit With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant
I come from a poor city with a lot of problems, some people turn to crime to make money, but others try to stay positive, even though it's hard

Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose There's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to
People care more about sports than real problems like poisoned baby food, women use their bodies to get ahead, and people live dangerous lives

So here I sit, eye in the pyramid God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then Disappear again, reappear bearded On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again
I'm like a god, speaking the truth and vanishing, but then reappearing with more powerful rhymes that people can't ignore

Provider of the backdrop music For the crack rock user and the mascot, Earl Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than?
My beats are the soundtrack for drug users and I am the mascot for this lifestyle, my rhymes are as raw as a skinned knee, I get people fired up like a match

Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit
I am so badass, it's like chicken on the grill, I can rap fast and maneuver around easily, I don't care about the small details, I just want to get everything I can

Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real
Stop talking tough, because we know you aren't really about it, if you come around, we will mow you down and leave you in a pile, we are ready to kill and our weapons are real

Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers
I'm selling drugs and people don't know the recipe, they regret giving kids access to these dangerous items

Send chills up spines of fat bitches after Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they Live and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money Little boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll send them for me Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for heat
My music gets people excited, I throw sandwiches at shows, people do what they can to survive and I am doing the same, someone promised to have my back when things get rough, nobody intimidates me, and people don't know what to expect when they mess with me

Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless Nine-four, would've had them walking down Death Row First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do
My weapons hit hard, like a pool stick hits a cue ball, if I had been around in the 80s, I would have signed with a big record label, people would have loved my music, and I know that haters will always exist

Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you" So it's Raging Waters season That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing
I have a voice in my head that tells me to attack anyone who challenges me, it's like a water park is open for violence, I am as strong as a basketball player and I will leave someone's mother alone, people act tough until they are close to dying

Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat drawn
Some people act tough in their music, but it's not believable to me, I'm fine as long as I can have my weapon, my presence is powerful like gas, even police are afraid of me, so I say 'Free Smalls' and I'm ready to fight

Strapped up long as the chief for police armed Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain
I am always armed, just like the police chief, I grew up in a tough area, where people are dangerous, I know gangsters who are always shooting, I have a gun with a pig on it (to show disrespect for the police), I am here to protect people from the police and the life of crime