Demons (feat. Backwoods)

I put the down the weight equipment exercise my demons
I treat these rappers like my hoes I leave these bitches screaming
They say my head is in the clouds I need ta stop the dreamin
Insomniac ironic ain't it workin while you sleepin
Makin believers from these heathens y'all can call me Jesus
Nah I don't do this for acceptance fuck the people pleasers
I'm just tryin to get some money enjoy my
Life wit leisure
They used to hate and now my DM's filled with beg for features
my flow is cold and in the booth feel like I'm in a freezer
I'm burnin up your speakers sound system has got a fever
These clowns that think they soldiers guess that makes me Caesar
I got my team up on my shoulders while you in the bleachers
I'm 31 you think I'm outta time then check the meter
Fuck the smoke you want the beef nah bitch you catchin either
Y'all just followin your homies scared to be a leader
There's just one quarterback and all the rest receivers
I'm Takin over shit for real it's called a search and seize it
Jason Kid wit instrumentals any track I beat it
Im comin In the building just reserve my seating
Got em like Lebrons hairline these dudes retreating
They don't say shit to my face live at they moms and tweeting
Ain't got a fuckin job but wonder why they bitches cheating
Fakin like they ball on Instagram it's all misleading
Spend they money on follow bots, and make they page deceiving

All you deceiving heathens can keep on faking like you've made it
But we can see the weakness when buying strength You can't replace it
With all these bots you're feeding into you streams to seem less basic
Let's face it your less than basic cause you're faceless and can't awaken
Im saying greatness is made with a grit beyond the grave you're vagueness
The faceless will never make it to famous
Forever remaining so famless like these pricks that are paying playlists
Yo Just drop the shit
And go erase all your pages

And Im just saying
Ive sacrificed these nights and theses days and
I'll be damned if you're complaining
How your life ain't getting catered
You're sleepin the day in, expecting a change
In the way that you living cause it sucks?
Tough luck
Work on some authentication

Ayo Gio, lets give these cats an example of what hard works gonna get you
When you're not sitting on your fucking Ass mumble rapping shit into a microphone
Stop abusing your microphone!

Killem with the venom of the rhythm that I sendem
Split a peelem from the system with a
Syllable syndrome
Never impeeding always speeding keeping away from the villain
At a million miles an hour
Not even toppin the engine
I got the needle at the bottom and they still couldn't catch me
Now watch me snatch back on the throttle
And leave Em looking and guessing
Uh where'd he go?
And how's he follow the speed of light like he's resting.
You want the secret?
Ill spill it
But first you've gonna have to catch me.

Yeah I can killem with different rythmns of massive momentum
I can fillem with Eminem venom but also an illness
That's a little bit more than alota bit different in terms of twisted
Coming Equipped with a sickness
A pen, a pad, and a vision

I stick em an bic em on pads I'm slashing like victims
And for people who listen
By bic Em, I'm basically saying the brand of pen I've been pickin
Im Peter Parker's Peter piper
I picka lyric an stick it To sheets of parchment like a collar so I can leash it and spray it Like arsenic, like hitlers chambers except a lot more dangerous
And worse than Dante's arrangement
I'm burning mics like these pages

Ha
Shit I ran out of beat