Call me The Trickster,

The Joker,

The Catnip Smoker,

The Skate Park Poser

With a Fat Lip Poster,

The Hate Bulldozer

The State Pulled Over.

Makes me want to send one over,

Red Rover, Red Rover.



Find me in loafers

counting all the bread in the toaster.

Braggadocio about my doppio,

boast my roast.

Maybe try my hand at this.

Like cannabis I float

among the most likely,

the ones that might be

the host.

Dancing with a ghost.

Like Lupe I’m doing the most.

Kick, push and coast.



Flow wavy like the coast.

You know maybe I’m dopest

voice to come out your speaker

it’s a feature

you know this.

No hocus pocus.



Just tighten the focus,

like light to a locust.



Bright light shines into me.

I got no enemies.

I take that energy

and step like a centipede,

cause it’s all industry.

The factories are hidden, see?

The fact is you may live to be

someone who needs a thing to believe in.

At least that’s what I’m seeing.

Don’t want to sound like I’m freaking,

but living for the weekend

like last centuries men

doesn’t sound so appealing.

You feel me?



I can’t shake it,

got this feeling,

bout that time to burst through the ceiling.

Just shake it,

if you feel it.

Just dance to defeat it.



—



Industry heretic:

don’t care to be famous.

Maybe I’m just scared of it,

that shit seems dangerous.

There is no mystery,

a life on display.

Selling your sanity

so your song might get played.



For me it’s the opposite,

don’t care about the charts.

Gotta stream a hundred artists

just to find you some art.

Fame should be a side effect,

but the culture’s playing Simon Says,

and the narcissists,

you might detect,

are the dudes who do define success.



But if saying less

is the greatest sin,

then I’d rather be forgotten

then remembered for giving in.

So let’s begin.

Where you want to be?

Louder now,

go tell all your friends.



Because together we can rise above.

We are the prophets,

but not the one’s they’re thinking of…

So let’s start a party just for us.