Artist of the Century (Tiny Desk Version)

[Intro]

(What the helly Bron James)

[Verse: MIKE]

You gotta be, I mean, probably above me

Proud of me, workin' 'gainst the odds and the ugly

It's comedy, the hurtin' be disguised as a subtweet

A prodigy workin' out the five, not a sublease

Bottom feed, growin' out of poverty is toughenin'

Monogamy, it was only pottery I fucked with

Coddled me, nowadays, it's honestly a dungeon

It boggle me, turned another opp into a custy

Apologies, tryna free the colony like Tubman

Debauchery, never seen this side of me in public (What the hell—)

Bottle fiеnd, I don't wait 'til Halloween for ruckus

It's time to eat, gave 'еm all that modesty for nothin'

The collard greens replacin' all the college dreams I fronted

Prophecies, they favor the facades, I debunk it

Props to the puppets, shots for the huntress

For guapanese, play you on the spot like a—

My partner T took me on the job as a youngin

Propped like a pumpkin, shocked was redundant

I plotted cheese, but really needed God in abundance

My mind full of fuck shit, eyes on the hundreds

[Chorus: MIKE, duendita & Liv.e]

I could put it on my life (Ooh)

Nah, gotta put it on my life if I want it, uh

I been puttin' up with strife since a youngin

The prize isn't much, but the price is a—, uh (Ooh)

I Gotta put it on my life if I want it, uh

I been puttin' up with strife since a youngin

The prize isn't much, but the price is way too much (Ooh)