I'm a client, tiffing, fool, siffing, 80 proofs. Run on my way to school, everything I do is a day's yaw fool. ACU play kazoo in the orchestra. On a kill-it-sfree like juice when you want a glove, making moves. The solution formula you fake ass crew need to screw up a disorder. So see I'm an infusion of truth and immortal love. Praise me, so someone can prove this Lord above. Call it annawicious. Establish peace of mind, because you can't be turned into the flag for religions. I'm cracking up scholastic achievements. A rapper with a passionate thesis that'll smash you to pieces. AC is inherently catastrophic as melancholy. Your laughing hysterically is unchopping your head and body up. The petty commoners lost with a heady bottle. I'm doubtful that anyone's gonna start me from getting out of here. Yeah, I'll be fit until my cabinet closes. To the mortician puts a tag on my toe and zips the bag up. Yo, the flow is liquid magma. Bubble in, asshole, drag a toaster to the bathtub and plug it in. I see more cases than a loading die. Take a shot of jack and then I chase it with a rolling rock. Oh my god, flicking the blunt, watching ashes hit the cobblestone. Drunk as fuck, losing my balance as I wobble home. We get weird like Zed and the Gimp and pulp fiction. This better than kids just won't listen.