mr. master – paul revere (freestyle) lyrics
i don’t get introduced anymore
i just get recognized like weren’t you that dude from before?
yeah, probably. you can find me in a lot of locations
in the studio, mixin’. digital audio station
on the sidewalk, buskin’ it with a pot for donations
in your bluetooth speaker speakin’ in constant rotation
they ask me “master, how’d you make that lane for yourself?”
i took everything i liked about everything else
they tried endin’ me, but i’m here for the after credits scene
here for the postgame. the gold skulltulas
culture, you vulture us
town ain’t big enough for the both of us
ennio morricone with the orchestra
don dada to the art sn-bs. poison for the dart frogs
lord over the farquads. matamoney heartthrob
ridge get the job done
i’m just tryna get her number in my phone before the cops come
my club culture, i’m head coachin’
trench coat outta french vogue. y’all dress homeless
tiptoed to the end zone. y’all benchwarmin’
the midpoint between frank ocean and seth rogen
notebook to keep my death notes in
gettin’ texts so much, my android almost exploded
mp5 on mp3
way my sixteens sweet like mtv. i moved to la
but still i’m san diego supercharged
root down. threw down the draw four uno card
way i’m actin’, thought the crew was filled with movie stars
grab my ukulele, now i’m bruno mars
i’m only rappin’ to prove you wrong
napoleon blooregard. lookin’ for a frankie to foster
gettin’ paid by a sponsor to play at a concert
off songs that i made up in college. the future is now
this is not a freestyle, it’s a reminder
that y’all’re watering a grease fire
y’all got tossed inside the deep fryer
y’all got caught inside this meat grinder
looks like fargo to the screenwriters
business cards out. no names h-t my telephone
mute the metronome, i’m a professional
y’all’re resellin’ tickets for these festivals
i’m just tryna keep my vessel full
keep my ship afloat. miserable misanthrope
pray this length of time gets me before this length of rope
war got me tuggin’ but i’m not budgin’
gerard butler with the arm muscles
so stop russian, dolph lundgren
sorry to the tarot card dealers and the palm readers
this is somethin’ you never would’ve saw comin’
i’m not tryna say your songs are all lies
i’m just sayin’ that i sound the same live
only ones out reppin’ as far as we know
i’m filipino so the skratch piklz are my heroes
did my homework instead of my homework
rappers unconscious before they even heard the whole verse
not for the faint of heart. copped with excessive force
kalashnikov collision course. open the door
cheap liquor on expensive floors
spilled for the ones we lost from events before
upend the doors on the aventador
i flex so hard when i write. imagine if i had it
i wouldn’t even be rappin’. i’d be batman
with all of the gadgets and none of the action
and a little more handsome
recordin’ with brian wilson and charles manson
met baby in the corner, now we’re dirty dancin’
said i remind her of logan lerman from perks
she’s a virgin? i must be richard branson
went too fast for you to get what happened
mr. master, i’m the king on campus
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