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chapter one - holt lyrics

[verse 1]
i hear the optimists voice, he said come hop in the void
i was a pup ’til i realized that dogs like to chomp at the toy
i am no longer a boy, you cannot f-ck with the man
i just gotta get away, i might go jump in a van
that is just part of the story, chapter one, fifteen years old
boy you simply can’t f-ck with these flows
for you it’s tough, but it’s nothing to me though
in the whip, and it’s b-mping, feefo
switching lanes and they’re hitting a dead end
still they really want to flex like bench press
too animated, like their name was ed ed
oh and eddy, just started but i’m going steady
a rapper is average, people throw confetti
and their flow is lazy, but i like a challenge
they just load the semi, while i throw machetes
your formula is the code of petty, if that’s the case then you should run for it
figure it out, if you can’t, just look in the mirror and tell me you’re not a f-ck boy
b-tch get an f and she call her daddy, and the sh-t so gross like a roll of fatty
i can smell it, people acting fishy
friendly with krabs but they stole the patty
know the name of holt, if you say you don’t, then you’re lying, we can tell
it’s the genesis, by the end of this, my name’s gonna ring a bell
that’s the dream, boy, rap supreme, then you stab the cheese, and you have a piece
like a cat with teeth, he was acting sweet, at the end of the day, though, the rat will bleed
i’m moving up, i need to get packed
no no no no, shouldn’t have said that
next motherf-cker says no self serve i’ll grab that b-tch and then snap his neck back
young man living, never gave a f-ck, yeah
only got a few that i stay in touch
i search for the real cause dudes fake a bunch
like a b-tch acting drunk when she drank the punch
aye, motherf-ckers love to throw shade
took my textbook and i ripped out the page
theater girl, i’ll f-ck her backstage
do the same type of sh-t the next day
do not fight me, i’m the sensei, i am overtly the freshest
i like saying f-ck my french grade, just a personal preference
love to learn but i hate a lesson, get the dough and i make the bread
but what goes up it must come down, so i stay finessin’ in the great depression

- holt lyrics

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