Drew D - Warning Lyrics

Warning
This rap is
Intoxicating and habit forming
Foreign
To any rapper unable to rhyme with
Orange and

Players steady asking how Drew D
Stays stackin' mad chips
A good magician never reveals
How he does his magic
Y'all think your dragons
Breathin' fire
But more Komodos
I'll burn a few forests and completely destroy the ozone
Drop me into
The Indominus enclosure promptly
I'm trying to get my protein
Cause I ate all of my broccoli
You're mimicking
The doppelganger
Cloning all the copies
Thinking that you're tough shit
Till I leave your f*cking body
Approach you in a blizzard
With the outfit of a shaman
Wearing the predators of nature
I ate like ramen
Crack your skull like whack-a-mole
Just tomahawking noggins
A beating heart
Is probably the last thing
We have in common
Deck you in the jaw
To make your face plant
End up eating dirt
I'm flyin from outside of space
And that's what makes it
Even worse
Combustion upon arrival
My rivals
Feel the heat for sure
About to obliterate my opposition
When I meet the earth
I'm a do to you
What chippers do
To little dead trees
Separate your body parts like Moses did the Red Sea
Hungry for another kill
When I can let my pen free
I'll be unloading on beats
Until my clip is empty
Countless composers
Cannot compare to my cranium
Come and witness
How I spit shit like it's
Liquid vibranium
I propose you posers
Prepare to get hit by
Five stadiums
It's the shit that gets the party lit
So listen and play me son

Warning
This rap is
Intoxicating and habit forming
Foreign
To any rapper unable to rhyme with
Orange and

Vanquish any vile vermin
Standing in vicinity
I will be buzzing past a Light-year
Way beyond infinity
Simple see
These similes
Are symphonies
To signal scenes
Inside your mind
Like Stitch it seems
As if you're singing with
NSYNC
On a cloud around a crowd
It brings
A feeling of brilliance, skills, and things
Spittin' rounds
Makin' different sounds
Gotta hit the ground
When I get around
Set em down
When I run it out
Gutter mouth
Boutta put a bomb in your house
On the couch, on the count
3, 2, 1
I could be a little bit cocky
But what I'm not be
Some kind of copy
Rapping all choppy
With a hot beat and an oxy
In a block scene where the glock gleam
Solely intended for mockery
I'm so sick of all this hy-poc-racy
Admit it that you're really not a G
Admit it that you're really not a G
Admit it that you're really not a G

Admit it that you're really not a G
Admit it that you're really not a G
Admit it that you're really not a G