throwaway - mr. master lyrics
[prod. by mr. master]
[intro: mr. master]
b*tch, this ain’t ultra but it’s ultra
the past weeks, keep it a buck, have been tumultuous. ayy
no skin off my temporal lobe
’cause the brain don’t strain
off days of cortisol build up
aye, this sh*t’s ultra but it’s not though
the master been really a bachelor doin’ doctoral. ooh
bang brought johnny dang out of a john doe
a rock’s throw from john deere. just need a lawnmo*
[verse: mr. master]
ayy. throwaway. dead that sh*t in one shot
tide ‘em over till the next one drop and the dry spell stop
new nerdcore. how could i not?
pretentious. rose lenses
swing still ding off the fences. throwaway
big death for an innocent life
big crash for a routine flight. get your sh*t right
throw it away. may god have mercy
on all those failin’ to merk me. pray
a young kid breakin’ my back
’cause a team full o’ so called pros can’t play?
who am i, trae?
la struck gold in the ridge
but a greased up kid said that sh*t don’t stay
malaise. the biz so lived in already
that’s a decade on nth. y’all late
okay, what’s really a joke’s how
the more y’all practice, the worse y’all get
fourth wall break like bertolt brecht
quiet as kept, this myelin sheath
makes white when it’s stress
i boosh almighty the right outta left
teach a orville forte to grind like macgrub
don’t need no fourier to transform tones
these vocal cords automatically tune
throwaway. thread that critical spot
tide ‘em over till the next tick tock on the doomsday clock
new nerdcore. haters say shopped
amicus. malfeasance
beautiful people all like, “leave us, go away.”
facsimile assimilation’s a no
facts still agree. fashionably late to the show
had fixity past iterations ago
antiquity. brand new engagement. h*llo
differance. big difference. no prox’mate
derrida. y’all derelict. ain’t clocked it
widthways snippin’ these heartstrings
ridgway serial k!ller my darlings
transcribe verses on vellum and parchment
g*nius secrets. h*lla compartments
woah. ayy. legit. is this a
joke, a jam, or highway gyp?
iunno, pick. derisive. salacious
squared all that and a bag full o’ paint chips
gang don’t see a lot mmm but i still got
mynx don’t gym a lot mmm but she still hot
phone don’t ring a lot mmm no ringer on
ultra wasn’t cool then and it’s still not
throwaway. dead that sh*t in one go
tide ’em over till the next peephole to the raree show
new nerdcore. how did i know?
forensics. forced entrance
tick marks carved into benches. throwaway
big stamp of approval
treadmill straight to the dump for removal
throwaway
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