[Verse 1]
Dry ice terrains and nights of breath visible
Like ghost leaving it's shell, hell's bells is froze well
Learnt to let the soul tell what d**h didn't pull
You reaching super mach speeds with your flows and I'm like "Oh well"
Cheeks so swelled up and red it's roses in my pores and
Bystanders staring at me saying "What the f**'s he rolling?"
"He must be toked out, looking to get his broke out"
"Break in feeling, reach for the ceiling, get the most out the game"
All these rats is distractions, he's back in that 'Lac from the future, the frame in frost lacquering
He all about real action before the redaction
Never seen no reaction unfold in three fractions like when he brawl mic - two from below, one from the far right
His couplets rub up tits like bark, bite
Forever indebted to your highness, the rawness
You blessed me with a path ma, now my wrath upon us
[Hook x4]
Me and you
Your mama and your cousin too
Rolling down the cap on colds
Coming up, slamming fat pick up doors
[Verse 2]
Bite the mic, the style it fit in every denture
Solo polo hero alley-ooping off the benches
Still he gonna prosper even if you scoop him out the roster
Who's to block him when his juice is concentrated?
Watch him navigate the potholes baked, the pot hold is safe
Drive slow, decorate road, get the cake
River, lake or ocean, he'll drain it whole and expose that all the crab a**es can't hide, they bad actors
Cold city dweller bout to get show busy, tell them "Get all your mits up! f** it if you frost bit up!"
When he come up on the scene it's an influx of hiccups
Emcees get seen to be the victims
Like what the f** occurred? Was it really bad timing?
Or no coincidence since these s**ers bad at rhyming?
He the Peter Gatien of the rap nation
Canuck supplying clubs - an international equation
Y'all aging fetuses lack patience to tap greatness
Encyclopedias in need of fat updating
If you still with me on the track and want some facts, the front's already packed so here's a story for the back
It was St. Laurent and Brittany, beginning of the symphony
Storm hustle down, busy roar like a victory
Pissy poor delivery - three words not spoken bout the cold clout
Test it, you'll never get the fourth out
This ain't your everyday neighborhood crew, they knock a tooth loose like Yaga rock a broom
On that fly sh**, you'll see that molar only if the time shift
The clock of doom is not a hand you wanna chime in
You want some beef, but it seems you never get inside it
Always on the edges like the bread is, you was uninvited
Get your bucks but it's guns off bun-soft
Bet your bucks that your nuts runs off, flat sack
Had to go jack the beat, Calico Jack the pirate
Hold the weight of being hated if it mean prevent expiring
Style like tobogganing, he thriving on the slope
Some of y'all just talk, he riding what he wrote
Ice pick to pad, raw stories from the alpine tribe
The kid mad like a buffalo in Russia
Cold crush the puppet show, tug a bow and rush you
Such a sharp dressed man, stand close enough the cuff will cut you
Must you bust your nut before the verse done?
You got me all concerned, this is still the first one
Burping bourbon working nursing hurt lungs
My spit don't even make tips, oh what a cursed pun
[Hook x2]
Me and you
Your mama and your cousin too
Rolling down the cap on colds
Coming up, slamming fat pick up doors