[Chorus]
I’m tryna make a fuckin fan listen
A mufucka on a damn mission
But I don’t hustle with my ambition
I’m up and running in the stands swinging
A fuckin rumble, now the fans get in
I’m hunting humble with my hands hitting
You fucking stumble when you stand trippin
So come to understand this man spitting

[Verse 1]
I’ll craft a multi-syllabic attack on your ass like I’m batshit
And you’re Man-Bat against Batman, you’re fly but don’t have half the wit
When rapping shit like crappy gifts, I’ll stash em in my bag of tricks
And wiggle down your chimney like that fatty Nick through ashy lint
Grab a pen, Matt is in the house now, I’m company
So run with me on funky features, bumping beats and humming heat
Eat something sweet and summon demons up from under other’s feet
There’s only one Matisse so there ain’t nothing once you’re done with me
Fuck with me, I’ll invade your home and drop my tape in places
8-day-olds’ll play alone and play it over baby songs
So all of these colicky little infants’ll sing along
And make you all some crazy awful neighbors when the wailing stops
Shake it…shake it…shake it…y’all shake it off
Is it lawful using Taylor’s song for babies shaken calm?
Ain’t it wrong? Ain’t it undebatable that Satan’s shawl
Was sewn into the hood of my hoodie before I paid for cloth?
Matt-isms! Passed the nastiest class in rap lit
But that shit was practice, I’m axing you halfwits
And hacking this rap shit to rags every track spit
Matt’s sick, ad-lib, I’ve had it with these chapped-lipped
Losers who woo ya, they’re stupid and their rhymes suck
But mine are refined, every line is a mindfuck
I’m nuts, sign up for a fire and I’ll light up
Ignite a ton of dynamite and mic up my life, what

[Verse 2]
I want my Pop cult to absorb Mac’s hordes
You can tell them all I took it by force, Chuck Norris
I got Morris in my corner, Sinatti Pop’s on the boards
And so every time I hear the score it makes me want it more
But I get bored with my shit about a minute after dropping it
I gotta get better at this product pitch and lobbying
For causes cuz my honest hits are not leaving a lot convinced
That I can spit, I’m dying sick in silence with this vibrant script
I’m damaged by anxiety, panic long as my eyes can see
The only time I’m still is when I die at night so silently
And quietly, but I awaken violently midnight to 3
My eyes are moving rapidly, but I’m writhing while I’m tryna sleep
…Read me a bedtime story or sing a lullaby
Bout how I’ve fucked my life and how I only fucking wish to die
Shit’s a lie, but fibbing isn’t quick defined within a rhyme
I’m vibing with hyperbole to illustrate my vivid mind
“Mystify…” every single kid who’s on the internet
Who’s off and clicking threads about hip-hop and who’s up getting next
“This the best!!” Thanks, I guess? “So why’re you not getting press?”
Cuz I ain’t tryna impress anyone, admit my shit’s a mess
Yet I script this verbiage and work it into furious sets
I’m bleeding every lyric, I’ma die without a tourniquet
Where’s the vet? I’m working like a dog through all this nervousness
All you seem unsure and so I’m asking “Is it worth it?” Yes.