I'm that dork up in the orchestra on oboe, trick 
You're just trying to get some chickens on your pogo stick 
But they'll be hopping off it when you stop the profiting, and then with no dough you'll be like a Dodo when you go extinct 
I'm in San Francisco sipping on a boba drink 
Tapioca in my palm I talk how Yoda thinks 
the voice is so distinct 
I like to write my rhymes with lemon juice 
and so if you don't get it it's in coded ink 
Better believe this 
I'm ready to meet Jesus 
Either him or Willford Brimley when I die from Diabeetus 
I've Never been defeated since da fetus days 
lead the way 
Raged out my momma's VJ, crazed and freed the slaves 
Wait I take it back, that's racist and I'd need a time machine and I'm not pleased to be like T-Pain, a fleeting phase 
But since My pre-Ks in PJs, I pre-date the Bieber craze 
I've been rhyming crispier than Frito-Lays