Yo, peace, peace
Morning work, well, early afternoon
Peace and blessings to Mama Electronica
Tyler hit me like, “Wow”
This next is gon’ feel like going to trial
With Samoan bows all over your fouls
You got a hunnid dollars, your lawyer’s a hunnid thou
What we doing now, ayy, you ain’t gotta suit
You wake up every morning hoping you ain’t gotta shoot
I stay off in the silliest of coupes
Since the two-way in my face, I kept Chilly in my lupe
It means I see the diamonds through the mess
Royal battler from the island of the left
The Dalai Lama might chime in from Tibet
To quiet violence in the mind, try silencing the neck
Kemetic science and some chess
Masters all [?] so use an IBIS for a jet
But truly forest all in the sinus of the blessed
Still pilot a mech with Detritus on the specs
Oh, lord, with the aesthetics of a lodestar
Came through the ghetto with some bread and a go board
You can still see the sparkles if it’s viewed right
I just choose to do it to Warby Parker’s at a food fight (Hm)
I cry to violins
Only engage with the ops to tryna find a higher lens, yeah