"Artist Of The Century" lyrics

Yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah
Huh

You gotta be, I mean, probably above me
Proud of me, workin' 'gainst the odds and the ugly
It's comedy, the hurtin' be disguised as a subtweet
A prodigy workin' out the five, not a sublease
Bottom feed, growin' out of poverty is toughenin'
Monogamy, it was only pottery I fucked with
Coddled me, nowadays, it's honestly a dungeon
It boggle me, turned another opp into a custy
Apologies, tryna free the colony like Tubman
Debauchery, never seen this side of me in public
Bottle fiend, I don't wait 'til Halloween for ruckus
It's time to eat, gave 'em all that modesty for nothin'
The collard greens replacin' all the college dreams I fronted
Prophecies, they favor the facades, I debunk it
Props to the puppets, shots for the huntress
'Fore guapanese play you on the spot like a trumpet
My partner T took me on the job as a youngin
Propped like a pumpkin, shocked was redundant
I plotted cheese but really needed God in abundance
My mind full of fuck shit, eyes on the hundreds

I could put it on my life, ooh
I gotta put it on my life if I want it, uh
I been puttin' up with strife since a youngin
The prize isn't much, but the price is a—, hmm
Gotta put it on my life if I want it, uh
I been puttin' up with strife since a youngin
The prize isn't much, but the price is abundant, uh

Patient suffering severe anxiety
And attempting to treat condition by booking on Sunday afternoons
In order to avoid confronting condition
The prognosis still in doubt
Treatment so far, putting head in sand
Hello?
At your service
My name is—