Clap If You’re Confused

I only function off the fumes of remembering I’m a godhead, You, and “competent rapping” crash harder than mopeds in bomb threats, Opposites like fur coats in monsoons, like igloos in hellfire, Your squad’s so soft, I could fold ’em like barbed wire. You stick out like tumors on bruised gums, I’ma die of disinterest before your two-cents get spun, You Cub Scout choir built that lullaby with broken crayons, Made me wanna uppercut your mic stand into a paint can. You wanna glue a bumper sticker to your soul that says “I’m different,” Get off my junk, dawg, my zipper reads “No Admission.” What’s this? A stress test? See how many bricks I can lug? Bitch, I’m every synonym for savage that’s ever been drug through mud. I tried civil, I tried cordial now it’s Gorgon mode, Superman’s throwing Mighty Mouse out a third story window, House nerds flinch when they sound out two-syllable verbs, Meanwhile, my flow’s the McDonald’s of harm over a billion served. You and your daycare clique? Can’t phase me. You cracked your own mirror trying to say “maybe.” Dry throat, scared speech, pitiful stutter flutter, Shoulda caught the hint when your blind ass needed closed captions to suffer. I’m off caffeine, pissed off, leave your chest rocked, You made it worse by existing that’s a self shot. I bet your mama’s jaw locked just sighing at your breathing, Probably huffed paint and bleach while you were teething. You prehistoric pebble, pothole-filler, Needed a mentor, picked me wrong thriller. Only way you have a chance is if I ghostwrite your shit, But even then you’d fumble the words and I’d still win. You moldy thumb fungus parasite at large, I been rupturing microphones since you were a barnyard discharge. Shut up, lil blood clot, before you get dry-mopped, I’ll turn your homie’s playlist into a warning shot. Here’s a broomstick for your fallen hopes and splintered shins, You got bodied worse than bootleg acid at a Deadhead’s binge. Shoulda stayed home, crushing Flintstones and doodling, Instead you grabbed a mic like anyone gave two hoots, hooligan. You’re a science experiment that flunked its own incubation, Brain’s on Barbie doll setting, patience of first grade kids. First to swing hands, first to leave bandaged, I turn looseleaf into crime scenes every time I brandish. No sleep, no food, just spite in my skull, While your lips sprint marathons fueled by Adderall, My vision’s twitchy, my knuckles itch, ain’t a damn thing to do, Might as well pummel you up into a souvenir bruise. I’m a vertigo specialist, twistin’ your vertebrae effortless, You’re a three-legged dog tryna sprint through the exodus, I’m reckless with it shoot you down while you dream flight, You flinch when a breeze hits, curfew by streetlights. I decapitate haters mid-sentence for practice, You’d try to sue me and still lose to me on the next Judge Mathis I’m a javelin through your cabinet of fragile rap habits, You’re a kid playin’ with matches, I’m the arsonist laughing. You write apologies in chalk so they wash off quick, I etch grudges into stone with a blowtorch grip, You’re a half-thought scribbled in invisible ink, I’m a car crash sermon with metal and blood on the brink. Your whole essence is Velcro on a leather coat, Mine’s a crowbar to the gut of every dead-end hope, You mope, sip soda, quote memes for your poetry, I wrote death notes in the margins while failing Geometry. You’re frail, your spirit got a gluten allergy, Your top five couldn’t shadow box the back of my strategy, I’m galaxy brain you’re a paper plane in a hurricane, Twirling, shrieking, broken before you even felt the pain. I’m a shank in the teeth of polite conversation, You’re a typo in a suicide letter’s foundation, You’re a buzzard on a sidewalk, drunk off exhaust, I’m an atom bomb tucked in the hem of your lost cause. Tore down your defenses before you finished your flowing, Hung your mike and wife on my wall as a trophy, I’m famine, pestilence, earthquakes up in your area, You’re a damp matchbox cuz you’re not lit, while I’m sick like malaria. So choke on your clichés, I’m past deconstructing ’em, I leave brains leaking out of eardrums for the fuck of it, No sleep, no manners, just flows and blunt smokin’, Got your dome open, like the legs of an only fans model with daddy issues who’s broken.