The Parlour

Blood in my lungs

Shotgun in my own mouth

Ballin' so hard I got money I don't count

Stacks in my pocket, stacks cause I'm indie

Even though the fuckin odds were just stacked up against me

Hold up, I took a shot of whiskey now I'm fine

Ain't a single one of you gon' say this city isn't mine

Even though these record labels told me that I need to act realer

They said they'll sign me if I act like I'm Mac Miller

Some even said they wouldn't sign me cause I'm balding

Even though my flow is straight scalding

Now I'm losin confidence I feel like quittin music

Even though my flow is so abusive

I'm just scared to let my balls swing

So fuck ya'll, I ain't somebody's pet dog

I pull a gun on all these record labels get robbed

I gotta make you bang your head until your neck throb

No one in their right mind deserves to work a desk job

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch

I don't even need a cheesy pop single or a chorus

Ya'll bout to watch me shift the whole entire global orbit

I'm on my own dick it's so big, it's so enormous

I think I'll swallow myself like I'm the Ouroboros

Morbid, black poisonus orchids

Torture anybody on that music business whore shit

"How much does a feature cost?"

Bitch you can't afford it

Ten billion unmarked bills on a forklift

I smack the paparazzi bitch I'm on that Bjork shit

Drinkin Beaujolais and a plate of seared swordfish

Either that or Farmhouse Ale with some pork tips

I quilt words together it's so gorgeous

I never quit it would be bad news to my fans

I'm committed I put tattoos on my hands

I'll never get a real job

So I'm just stuck makin music

For the goodnatured people that just feel odd

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch

Listen, I ain't dissin anybody

Tryin to work a 9-5 so they can get a little money

But if you feel like you got a passion that you gotta chase

Quit your job and hock a loogy in your boss's face

Cause I spent too long showin up to work formal

How can I do normal work?

My brain don't even work normal

I'd rather spray paint the stars til their black

Therapeutic gangster rap

There's a market for that, What up

Look, if I was Gucci Mane Pitchfork would say

I'm the greatest fuckin writer of my day

I'm sick of music publications giddy in their press for thugs

Ya'll are named Pitchfork why you obsessed with Bloods?

Just because I'm white and used to mess with drugs

Does not mean Eminem's the reason that I rap

I know real gangsters and people in the trap

It's a fantasy for ya'll and we're just leavin it at that

Bitch

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch

I'm gonna catch this dream before I die bitch