Dry Ice - Armand Hammer

Yeah I was in on the plot, but you still got a fiend shot

Elections over, but the robocalls never stop

Negotiations broke down, they sendin' Robocop

I don’t know nothin', I don’t call a lot

Answerin' the phone like you know I want sun’thin'

(hey, you not wrong)

She said come inside if you cummin', so we bet the farm

Anything I ever got was on the arm

Anything I ever got was on my own

how I watch the throne

Type of kid who never want to be at home

Be in the park shootin' hoops alone

In the dark, red flag, but what you gon' really do for 'em

He already gone

Once they put him in the whole, he was ready for 'em

Submit the verse long form to put it on Twitter for you silly niggas

Walked past homeless like cry me a river

No question 'bout it doc, I’m gettin' sicker

When she said the magic word, definitely got bigger

No question 'bout it, I’m definitely gettin' sicker

Smoke like dry ice, erry line is a mirror

Try as they might, never see him clearer

What he most wanted she wouldn’t give

Took e’rything else, he the type to do it big

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

It’s like an ocean out there

Sometimes I wonder how I keep from going under though

Under the undertow

The universe is unbothered

What’s the matter if I murder a few rap bloggers

History told by a conqueror

Rounded the remains to the nearest tenth

Tell me how he grew grain like it’s his

Leave no prints

Skin to skin

Wickedness in high places

Watch ya chair

Swordplay, bounty of war, red sauce is port based

Storm chasin', tryin' to melt my face on my born day

Shape of things to come

Practicin' for a world where they don’t exist

Pigs that shoot hoops with the kids

Two months later slappin' cufflinks on they wrists

Runnin' off script

Pop, smoke, sniff

Psychotropic dose

Pockets open

Swear to no one

I know oceans

I got no lungs