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pseudonym - factory made (thats that shit) lyrics

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[intro]

[verse 1]
here i come, pr+ne to leave your bones with micro fractures/
a rather clean bachelor, know to attack a/
whack rapper, and his punk ass friends/
send them and them, onto a long ass weekend/
i must be tweeking, cause it didn’t quench my thirst at first/
but then i got the feeling and it only got much worst/
“you’re getting carried away” so i take my words and spray/
like an automatic, i’m deading all static, hip hop fanatic/
you can ask my moms, i’m known to be dramatic/
i gotta habit, like cool c k!lls people/
i’m not regal, but it’s been like 20 years since i’ve had an equal/
get stabbed by the steeple, and bleed the blood of abraham/
godd+mn, didn’t know joey produced the jams/
he’s got the longest gams, in the f+cking industry/
the rest is f+cking history, don’t hinder me/
you get your name in the obituary column g, indeed/
i proceed to leave the crowd with a sense of satisfactory/
f+ck it, they’re used to rappers being made in factories/

[chorus]
that’s that sh+t ×16

[verse 2]
it’s a toxic mixture, to picture a hip hop fixture/
in the midst of duress, it’s depressing to learn a lesson/
from that heavy handed lyrical motherf+cker to keep you guessing/
it’s been 40 d+mn years and n0bodies figured it out/
it’s hip hop, enunciate and open your f+cking mouth/
i used to be about, hating lil wayne and t pain/
how the game got so f+cked up it’s insane/
inane profits, of one dimensional lifestyles/
meanwhile, y’all dropping off like fruit flies/
motherf+ckers best to recognize, my arise be/
cause i wanna give you something different/
aside from herbs from the burbs just giving you an image/
this scrimmage is to diminish what’s left of your brain to cream spinach/
oops, looks like you beat me to that/
go ahead, get p+ssed off, i’m spitting straight facts b+tch/

“b+tch! haha! man, i’ll tell you. motherf+ckers don’t have a clue. ah man… yo i think it’s time.”

[chorus repeats]

[scratch solo out]



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