Dark Matter
Listen, Ya’ll can’t stomach what I’m on, sans frontin. Off my ballsack scrotum. Catch me in an all black Cobra with the top back, stuntin. I’m LeBron slam dunkin, a goddamn mothafuckin boss man, nugga. With the all time greatest flow, the all Tom Brady flow, that dollar sign made of dough, Alzheimer’s crazy flow. And rappers get ate. But I’m on diet: Paleo, can’t handle the fake on the top five radio. I’ve got a natural taste for actual brains; serve the type of meal reserved for Hannibal’s plate. The beef is handsomely braised, no need for salmon or steak, just keep it family made, mesquite the lamb when I baste. Dismantle ya brain until synapses are frayed, I need to scramble your eggs to feed my animal rage. There’s candles on the table, with apples and grapes, the shallots sliced finely to match the filet. Invite you back for a date, and show up fashionably late. But I’m so attractive and great you were still emphatic I came. Psychosomatic, addict insane. Dave is the prodigy, the prodigy: Dave. This ought to be rape, misogyny, hate. Cause all you bitches bother me, I’ve got to be frank. I’m not in your ranks or even distantly close. I’m egotistically gross, achieved tremendously, consistently been winning the most. Statistically, my figures just bloat, continuous growth… I’ll decommission your soul, to be specific. I’m dope. I’m chilling with ghosts, while I live in the HOF, cause it really gets cold with no living involved. The greatest alive on the planet of earth, so praise your Allah before the damage gets worse. The favorite top candidate, first. Dave is the boss, you faggots are clerks.
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