I'm that dork up in the orchestra on oboe, trick You're just trying to get some chickens on your pogo stick But they'll be hopping off it when you stop the profiting, and then with no dough you'll be like a Dodo when you go extinct I'm in San Francisco sipping on a boba drink Tapioca in my palm I talk how Yoda thinks The voice is so distinct I like to write my rhymes with lemon juice And so if you don't get it it's in coded ink Better believe this I'm ready to meet Jesus Either him or Willford Brimley when I die from Diabeetus I've Never been defeated since da fetus days Lead the way Raged out my momma's VJ, crazed and freed the slaves Wait I take it back, that's racist and I'd need a time machine and I'm not pleased to be like T-Pain, a fleeting phase But since My pre-Ks in PJs, I pre-date the Bieber craze I've been rhyming crispier than Frito-Lays
