Just a display of rhyme skill man, that's what it is 92 Till Infinity and beyond and beyond Alright look, muthafucka still rap, biatch ! [Verse 1: Mac Miller] Hey, when I was 15 it was my dream to work with Preem He believe in what I do, so now he's makin' this beat And I'm writin' these rhymes, makin' sure that I kill it Shinin' like I'm acrylic, the government can't conceal it My style they tried to steal it, cause people startin' to feel it I'm goin' on these adventures, somethin' like on a field trip And now I'm growin' up, lookin' around this planet Some shit be goin' on and I just can't understand it No need to panic, I, got it expanded Is a million downloads I'm takin' over ya bandwidth Moments all candid, Kodak, reminisce and go back Life real good want ya'll to know that Don't have no deal and no half a mill Just on my Gang Starr shit with some Mass Appeal Go platinum independently, incredibly dope You need a telescope to come and get at me The naked eye could never see, and lebel my identity They see my middle finger, shut the fuck up and let me be That's how it's always been and how it will be Filthy ass rhymes, makin' money, but I'm still me Flippin' the mics, spittin' this nice Never could get everything that I liked Now I can cop it no matter the price Fuck it forget it I'm rappin' for life Can't tell me shit, I got my own mind 6 in the mornin': that's go time [Verse 2: Mac Miller] Had to take the beat and let it breathe, using up the oxygen The kid he go and rock and there ain't nobody that stoppin' him Poppin' up, bars on bars, you see me stockin' up Working every second of the day is still not enough Not on that cocky stuff, want ya'll to acknowledge us If you don't suck my dick bitch, esophagus You probably just go all on the internet See a conversation then you feel the need to interject I ain't finished yet, you don't think this kid a threat ? I'm on a ? You an MP3, I'm still in cassette, vintage yet Futuristic with some shit that split your deck My cadence complex, rhyme without a concept Atomic rhymes, you just a stupid fake bomb threat 6 in the mornin' and I'm writin' these ryhmes Workaholic, so you know that every night is a grind