That Just Isn't Empirically Possible

It's lonely at the top

All of my enemies have been defeated (RIP)

The crown has been sitting on my head for too long

It's starting to give me these lesions (yeah, yeah)

Don't follow the crowd, the crowd is misleading (no)

Stay solo, surrounded by all of my demons (ay)

Licking my wounds as they deepen (ay)

Constantly feeding them all of my secrets

007, I got the golden gun, I got the golden gun

I'm busting, open up the door (secrets)

I'm at my breaking point, I cannot take this shit no more

I'm ready to fucking explode

Open up, knock knock

Here comes the Glock cocked

9 milli, pop pop pop, oh no

Making a mess, my aim ain't the best

I guess I should clean this all up and go home

♪

Percocet, Roxycodone, with some Xanax that I had crushed up in some dust (huh)

Elevated to another dimension so I got a limp in my strut (fuck)

I do not care to be here or be there

In the meantime it seems that I'm stuck (huh)

Swerving and crashing, that dying little bastard

Yung Christ, you address me as such (what)

Crazy little demon, they wave when they see me

Face tatted from ear to ear (yeah)

Northside boy with a Glock-sized toy

If I cock it, there's finna be tears here

Manic depressive, when life is in session I hide in a room that's as dark as me

Dollar sign-B and it's still F-T-P

Fucking G-R-E-Y till I R-I-P