Top of the craft, I’m rocking a rap
Fat pocket wannabe
Off in a dash, Hop in the back
I called shotgun
Stop at the shell, son of a dad
When all thoughts run
Talk to myself, pumping the gas
I’m awestruck
Inner city schmucks butt-kissing for quick bucks
Turn nothing into something, what's missing?
Hissing tongue slum villagers
Filler ill as a gold shilling
Pillow with the soap if bringing up old feelings
What's a little hair of the dog? Fur of the pooch
I'm fairly involved, I dirty the boots up
Surely a blue Kermit the frog burn a doob up
Heard she was new certain the bra’s thirty-two cup
Same initials as pop singers and ball players
Alternative universe where the cops call neighbors
All favors done, flavored with sugar, labeled as love
Maybe I could move out of poppa’s place if I save enough
Wave in the front, jump in the back
The day the month, is not a concern
Tropical ferns call for extraction
Action and lights, packing the house
Tracking in dirt for rats and the mice
Master the verse, asking ya nice
Pass the advice
The grass in the pipe is priced half off
Has he a vice? Smashing the ice off a bad shoulder
Rolling his eyes, rolling the die, hold him by-
Any number coming up with his thumb fumbling lies
Size of the fight is fucking ridiculous
Something meticulous, lookin’ like I come with instructions
Stick fingers in light sockets, sucking and licking it
Jumping Geronimo when they bottom out on the tip of it
Seek and destroy, he can enjoy weakening functions
Ethan deploys beats for the boys- speak of destruction
We can avoid squeaking the toys of interruption
I just wanna be the best MC in the junction
Prolific Mexico City rapper SPEAK ponders the self-isolated age on a booming EP, recorded live in his kitchen during quarantine. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 24, 2020