Trippy Tyler - B(ESTES)T lyrics

[Verse 1: Trippy Tyler] Yeah I'm a prophet That's probably poppin' off at your logic Stoppin' your thoughts and chakras from cloggin' and getting washed up Like, half the artists that thought of some basic bars and got stardom Everyone of my verses sawed off and they heads are my targets I'm squashin' polished hip hop that should not get acknowledged Swappin' it with more than just common sense and its obvious I'm part of this, all about bars calling that's in commence, I'm in-convinced That yall goin' hard as some armored cars and bricks I, am convinced that yall go hard as some parts of Martian skin, yall soft as sh** You soft as a hit off a lit parliament light ripped on the bottom part of it like the skirts Spartans in I'm a hit off a filterless Marlboro red man I'm startlin' Most of yall needin' a rapper started kit, I authored it, the thought of me goin' harder than yall is an accomplishment that I accomplished quick, its often that I'm thought of the farthest from smartest kid but my competence is dominant and f**in' prosperous Preposterous artists not makin' part of sense, now ignorance is common as the common sense they parted with Yall need to cop the jist, I'm not a kid who thought he's sick just gettin' started and feel like I'm a god at this sh** Spit bars but I swallow 'em when I'm stressin' Dick hard in your b**h when she hits depression I ditched mars cause yall gotta witness this inception, infestin' this from Texas, I reckon that yall don't test this like Zombie infection, and its obvious I wreck it, flow a car crash testin', smokin' far past your heaven Snarl at oppression, I'm barkin' at stardom lobbin' a far fetched message, in every song and its awful when yall deflect reception, so its off with your heads and its, off with your blessins then, I mark the target where the mother f**in' weapon ends, there's no contestin' this, I feel like I'm the best at this the bestest, ditch, the b and ending t then check and tell me what you get Its the last name of the sick, sickest, spit, spitting kid, studders but will rebu*tal anything that you him me with, trippy as the sixties b**h you with me then you get the jist, you diss me then feel free to simply slip off of a heaping cliff, emo b**h, piece of sh**, as the ba** D-bo hits, prepare your brain for kilo sh**, like, dopeness, focus, most just, don't notice, I'm roastin' opponents like potent dro in a bowl then devotin' their smoke to my lungs till I'm chokin' But I'm never lyrically chokin', I copped some cough drops for that problem, I'm a hog for them blotters, blunt hog, non stop cougher, pause then I hit the bong, let it ring like a gong, droppin bombs with my eyes chinked like I'm Kim Jong ummm, then I'm gone with the wind, you scared to live if it isn't in the commandments of ten, you, scared to sin cause, its apparent that heaven just wouldn't let you in You think I'm sayin' stuff that's random as sh**, well no, rewind this, and use your sense that listens b**h, this diligent as it gets, with lyrics that get to bendin' your thoughts, like quantum physics, I've got, a hard addiction, to sickin' victims with hot syringes, they got, a liquid in 'em that causes friction inside of your pineal, then gets to causin' vividness to your third eye and you, hit a limit where you question everything, like why are you, you, and why am I, I, you seek proof for the truth and all you find is mother f**in' lies Everything is mother f**in' lies