[Verse 1: Dylan Ross]
Yo, It's about to get critical
I never advocate a whack tape or a body of work that's unoriginal
Coming hard like a criminal like Gangsta Pat kickin' the deadliest verse that'll put you on your back
I'm like a Watts Prophet wise and Black
Do you see the resemblance in the way that I despise the rap
Artists of nowadays putting out a highly whack project through a label with enough money to buy it back
But that's beside the fact
I can see through your shit with infinite vision television you can't prescribe me that
Psilocybin'd out grimy cat kick a stank rap thinking outside of the box call me Frank Zapp'
Give me a blank pad I'll go line for line
I'm so far out you couldn't even find me with a private eye
Eating applesauce in cyanide testing my stomach of steel with Marshall Applewhite watching Pass The Mic

[Verse 2: Dylan Ross]
Ross makes the best stuff
I put out the projects harder to find than a first edition pressing of Deathcrush
Comfortable in a field as I was raised a Pagan
Santa Barbara in the deck old school Sean O'Hagan
I'm sick of struggling and scraping so I'm fervently working on a reputation more amazing than Satan
I'm sick of the popular culture fascination with snapbacks and bacon cause I'm all about creation
A bar with multiple layers a real rhyme sayer
16s rolling out like a dungeons and dragon slayer
No one can consciously touch me as if I had a VD
I'll murk you half asleep or even if I'm dreaming completely
Often I feel like the Earth is beneath me to the point I look down and can't even see any terrain underneath me
The corduroy vested prince I'm still throwing down the best mints and I ain't been back to New West since