This shit ain’t nothin’ to me choom, I’m movin’ different. On that Adam Clapper pack. Cruising like a sande, never chipped in once. Rolled up to Konpeki on that Hello Kitty Tricycle, choomba called that shit preem. Scrolling BDs on go-pro like its animal planet. Call me Steve Irwin. We’re smoking Rainbow Lace. Took a puff of that Voodoo Boy Mathesulah strain, shit gave me RAM without a deck. Chromedome tried to pull up, gave him the Morgan Backhand. This shit ain’t nothin’ to me motherfucker.
We’re doing lines of synth out to Timbuktu. Shit so sour it’ll send a Scav to Home Depot looking for seasonal employment. Got me slobbering off these bootleg biotechnica runtz, make an eezybeef taste like Fogo de Chao. Sipping straight goblets of NiCola and surge, got me forgetting my name for the next three moons. I ain’t feeling a thing. Got 20 gonks doing lines on a surface thinner than David Martinez’s scapula. I sniff out that shit like a Yinglong smells blood, and brother I’m smelling za. Choombas and I grayscaled out in the back of Totentanz playing Kirby’s Epic Yarn in 5th person. BPM so high my biomon’s playing Suffer Me EDM on nightcore. This shit ain’t nothing to me choom.
Blunts so cut they’re chippin’ mantis blades, and choomba it’s thermal. Loaded my launcher with a can of tiancha, got my forcep smelling like kumquat for the rest of my days. I am Samurai. I have always been Samurai. I will continue to be Samurai. Got Arasaka RSVPing the funeral home. This perc’s starting to smell like a second nuke. Shooting straight chemotherapy. Choomba I don’t feel a thing. Up in Mikoshi shooting up in pdf format. Fuck greening out, choomba I’m blue screening. I can handle the heat. You got me fucked up man. I’m getting antsy. This shit ain’t nothing to me choom.
