Verse 
Polarize popular artists by yawning upon my arrival/ Couldn't conjure a rival even with zombie revivals/ Of idols that passed in the 90s, I'm nasty and grimey/ I rap like I'm never flaccid, I fuck it up all the time/ And I'm climbing the tower chasing King Kong, pulled him down by the ankles/ And tossed him into Godzilla, that's more gorillas endangered/ I'm no stranger to strangulation/ Laser Gun Gang affiliations, stronger than the will of Satan/ Exacerbate ya cyclical circumstances with stanzas/ Lash on vandals that glance at the chancellor while no permission was granted/ They pant at my paintings, perhaps they're amazing/ Or maybe their lungs tend to collapse after tryna fathom my cadence/ Maybe a bit of both, call me Evander Van Gogh/ My punchlines pop off the canvas, opponents can't handle/ Me if they was Cardiac Kemba, give ya game to rememba/ Enter my chamber, get slained, blood-stained and dismembered/ From January-Decemba, I'll damage any pretender/ With a, case of mistaken identity as contenders/ Send a quake to ya wake, toss ya friends and family members/ Uncle, Granny, ya great niece, mistress and step chirren/ May the Universe forgive him/ His intentions were ghastly but he went about it different, like a sage with ageless wisdom/ These just words on a whim that turn into verbs on the wind/ Pull the nerves out ya mans right through the pores in his skin/ This poisonous pen picked up my hand and started writing/ With the strength of a titan that could snap Posideon's Triton/ Woah, ougies can't harbor deadlier use of the alphabet/ I'm Malcolm X on his last day of prison, I'm about to set/ The world on fire, fortune favors the bold/ And this verse is available wherever flavor is sold/ I'm sinking my teeth and I'll savor ya soul like a kick to the face/ Whoever hates can take a bic to the face/ Ignite ya eyelashes, cry, "Fascist!" and stomp you out with my Bernie Bros/ I'm bypassing bystanders and bicyclists on a burning road/ On my way to earn the gold, Earnest Goes To Rock The Show/ Supercali-coolin, cryptic sentences engulfing/ The masses, sound splashin, suffocating your airwaves/ I dare say, don't taco bout nothing if it ain't verde/ Less it's queso or cremà/ Aiming for ya shoulders, neck and ya waist, have you doing "The Macarena"/