[Intro] [Verse 1: The Walkman] Let's spin a web The illest emcee on the interweb Onan on the beat We chop we up to make the borscht I eat Done with the puns Up with the guns Up with the force fields I'll k** some kaiju with you I won't look behind you mind you I find you unfit You found me unfunded Befuddled and confused The views were stuck in the hundreds I wondered what happened The blunders had flustered me And adjusted me to catering my music to underlings Now here we are in future and you need company You're handing me a list of sh** that you need done from me I doubt that you could understand what you have done to me But I can't leave now because I'm stubborn It's stuck to me What in the f**? (What in the f**) I mean excuse me, what's up with that? I'm popping like bubble wrap I hop like I get a stack Yeah, just pa** the tree to me actually spitting factually Casually make a masterpiece faster than Master P [Verse 2: The Walkman] I said, just pa** the tree to me actually spitting factually Casually make a masterpiece faster than Master P I got a snapple tea And a pa**ion no catching no Zs It's just me and the mic and beat and the reefer, it's easy I keep predicting my predicaments like Nostradamus A host of commas sent to send you to your foster mommas When you get disowned because I owned you on the track like I had bought your fathers I treat your Padres like Brooklyn Dodgers But no more puns No more fun Cause no more funds I'm done playing But I'm still swinging for one more run I'm ironic A street icon be iconic They think I can't but if honest then I'm honored To prove worth That could've been my rap name But I'm never getting that changed Cause I ain't doing paperwork I'd rather face the dirt and sell you what my hatred's worth And bite the bullet in your sights when it's too late to search