Puppeteer These Sims (feat. Hygiene)

You’re irrelevant, son. And I’m Hygiene.
Got the mic in my hand, understand? Check my I.D.
Millions of places got my ace in, that’s my plan
Counting cards. No more space at the bar so baby cry please.

So high and mighty.
Sweet but cold, they call me Icee.
But I’m from the eighties, man, I grew up on Hi-C
In my lunch, brown baggin’ pants saggin’ like I’m Ice-T

In the nineties. I can be highly unkindly.
Unfortunadamente los nosotros son el gente más presente.
So Imma dry clean your bars so flat
With hot steel like an ironing machine

This track got no equal on the stack.
Put the record on—better spin it while it’s flat
Spin it backwards. Hidden messages on Slack.
Channel flippin’ to the end and back.

Spin the wax. Spin the wax to Shangri-La and back.
Come back as a thought reincarnated as a cat.
Got my should dislocated, slam it back into place like Riggs.
Taye you up like Diggs. Puppeteer these sims.

Whatcha wanna do? Whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha wanna do? Whatcha gonna do?
Puppeteer these sims. Puppeteer these sims.
Puppeteer these sims. Puppeteer these sims.

I got one hundred ears listenin’ in
Hopin’ one of us might dish some ish, leak the beef
But we zip like Aquaguard.
Watertight submersible drip YKK all night.

You want some beef? Go drop a like
On whack rappers who only in it for the ice.
Don’t scratch the itch to say it twice.
This is the underground, independent, real experimental jive.

Worker bees bring it back to the hive
Feed these beats to a queen and vomit honey by the slice.
Hexagonal traps run in diagonal lines.
Irrational players chop down forests of pines

Ignoring the signs Earth is dropping with sighs.
Insert more rhymes here ‘cause I’m all outta tries.
Oh wait—I forgot I still got eight more lives.
What should I do? Escape this fake beehive?

Whatcha wanna do? Whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha wanna do? Whatcha gonna do?
Puppeteer these sims. Puppeteer these sims.
Puppeteer these sims. Puppeteer these sims.