Whenever - ATMOSPHERE, Gifted Gab, Murs

Put it under the needle and drop it on the one, boy

Your mama say that I be rappin' in my dad voice

Defense mech to protect me from the fuck toys

Joysticks, see me swerve through these asteroids

Life is good, V.G.

plus

But, yo, I still got that hunger to hold a box cutter

Let me carve my name in your security blanket

I’m sleepin' on a train on a sweat-stained mattress

I’m not expectin' company, hit the floor

If death comes for me somebody gotta get the door

You might choke on a sucker from the liquor store

We might get so high we don’t exist no more

I’m like smoke, I’m supposed to rise

That’s why you blow both of us towards the sky

So close the blinds and lend me your time

All of your enemies’ll eventually die

Pen game methane, Slug said to gas the shit

Spit flame just to keep the matches lit

They say I’m half insane, the other half immaculate, could you imagine it?

Whatever, I don’t like to shoot 'cause I’m just way too accurate

When they be at you they don’t ever at you, that’s the wackest shit

And ain’t too many bitches that can hang or even match my wits

I mean, I’ve had it up to here, I’m talkin' Atmosphere

'Cause I don’t even talk to them, they say I’m too cavalier

I’m like your greatest livin' fear when I twist the gears

Gimme props, I ain’t have to drop a bitch in several years

I look at OGs as my only peers

So let me know when you done playin' in the snow, the slopes for real skiers

I’m droppin' real tears from laughin' at you weirdos

Drag you lil'— by your earlobes

Number one stunner, stone cold, below zero

Too dope, I’ma need more than one kilo

Oral Krylon, I spray all my style on

Mind brighter than them orange end zone pylons

Two hands from the zebra man

Instant replay says the play on the field stands

I pack the stands with my stanzas

My stans go bananas, it’s a bona fide bonanza

Word to Jason Alexander

Cus D’Amato of the culture, coulda cussed out Costanza

Fuck Trump and fuck cancer

Fans raise they hands but they ain’t got the answers

No performance enhancers

Six rings, piss clean, I ain’t takin' no chances

Who else could dance with the devil?

Samba with the mamba, Macarena with ya mama

Fuck a double entendre

Put it plain 'til I leave this plane, I’m a problem

Quick witted, sharp tongue, I don’t mince words

Plentiful supply, use strife as my cistern

Take it in stride but describe it uncensored

Wadin' through the pain, love, lies and adventure

Gotta ensure the time spent wisely

Pops' tenure didn’t outlast the Isley’s

Walk soft, big stick and a slight lean

Kept the Nikes clean when nights got unsightly

Last real hitter alive, bitch, I might be

Death swarmin', head forward, kept forgin'

Never fret or let 'em see me sweat when I was left for it

Records reflect what I rep once it get sorted

Duckin' twelve with bench warrants to gettin' bread tourin'

Can you dig it way deeper than the surface shit?

What the true meanin' and the purpose is?

Soul’s fiendin' for half the breathin' we burdened with