| Woke up in the morning
 | 
| High off the internet
 | 
| Five million followers
 | 
| Now on the internet
 | 
| I own the internet
 | 
| I own the internet
 | 
| I own the internet
 | 
| Hack into religion
 | 
| Five billion followers
 | 
| Bitches slaves and indians
 | 
| Five billion followers
 | 
| Five billion followers
 | 
| Five billion followers
 | 
| Martyr Loser Kingdom
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| Roach egg economy
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| Threat by superstition
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| Roach egg economy
 | 
| Roach egg economy
 | 
| Roach egg economy
 | 
| Roach egg economy
 | 
| Roach egg economy
 | 
| «They approached the boat in reddish paint
 | 
| Naked, they were staring at our robes and garments giving thanks
 | 
| Down, down from the sky, down
 | 
| From the sky they seem to think we came»
 | 
| I own the internet, five billion followers
 | 
| 2000 slave team
 | 
| Michael with a cigarette
 | 
| Make a nigga pop
 | 
| But how pop can a nigga get?
 | 
| Basquiat, king of pop
 | 
| Make a nigga boom, boom
 | 
| Spin around, hat tipped down
 | 
| Walk over the moon, moon
 | 
| Days of the ways of the phase of the samurai
 | 
| Falcon on my shoulder but you know
 | 
| I’m on that eagle eye
 | 
| Eyes of America, everybody looking
 | 
| TV on the radio, knowledge in a book, and
 | 
| God of the internet
 | 
| Hackers, hackers
 | 
| God of the internet, God of the masters
 | 
| You don’t have to ask us, you can just do it
 | 
| Light blinked red and I ran right through it
 | 
| Matte black Tesla tank full of hydrogen
 | 
| Pop that head stuck open my eyes
 | 
| It’s my computer in front of me
 | 
| In front of my computer
 | 
| I’m typing all my thoughts as if I couldn’t think them sooner
 | 
| She’s just a night bird floating through your kingdom come
 | 
| Threatened by Virgini on the plenty
 | 
| On that Nina Sim
 | 
| You sitting wondering
 | 
| Spitters who fear wondering
 | 
| Trying to get Fulani, like the Roma bitch I’m wandering
 | 
| Tagged up in the Vatican
 | 
| «Nah nigga not that again»
 | 
| Poems on the subway with some change up in my hat again
 | 
| Snitches think I’m tattling
 | 
| Bitches think I’m ragging them
 | 
| Preachers think I’m preaching
 | 
| While the teachers think I’m cheating
 | 
| I’m just speaking
 | 
| «They approached the boat in reddish paint
 | 
| Naked, they were staring at our robes and garments giving thanks
 | 
| Down, down from the sky, down
 | 
| From the sky they seem to think we came»
 | 
| I’m just speaking
 | 
| «They approached the boat in reddish paint
 | 
| Naked, they were staring at our robes and garments giving thanks
 | 
| Down, down from the sky, down
 | 
| From the sky they seem to think we came» |