In My Notebook
[Hook]
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
(Writing it down, writing it down)

Verse 1
Filling up my trash can with
Balls out of loose leaf
'Til they fall out like loose teeth
I'm going all out, like Bruce Lee
The martial art (Marshall art) of Eminem punchlines
Wordsmith, sharp as sword making
Records are something I take some would get bored breaking
(I take some wood, get board breaking)
I’m a nomad with a notepad, and a vocab
So fab that the notes app on my phone crashed
Throwback to my old raps, they were so trash
No match for the flow that I can go at
Now, giving toe tags every collab
Ow, just to those whack, and I hope that
I’ll only grow and got this program
Microphone, and microphone stand, oh man
Go ham, got a cold hand, cuz the poem stanzas
That I wrote span way below that of
The north pole’s land, and I know that’s
So rad and I owe that to my own dad
Forget a roadmap, made my own path
Dangerous, dang, I just wanna blow fast
Want to have rang up all my own cash
But I got a couple hang-ups like a coat rack
That’s a triple meaning
I don’t fudge around, y’all judge the sound
But not bars, that’s what I’ve found
I’m from Oxnard, so what I’ve been
Designing is home cooked
I’m in the zone, look
Time for the dope hook
Rhymes in my notebook
[Hook]
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
Writing it down, writing it down

[Verse 2]
When it comes to me, there’s more to come
But you’re the one I get bored of, son
Without imagery transportin’ ‘em
Like a portal gun, it’s just sorta dumb
Cuz y’all making songs that are harmfully dumb
That only sound partially done
But get on magazines, like the part of a gun
Think having a heart full of fun
Is ridiculous. Nah, it’s remarkable, son
And I’ll startle ‘um, man I’m a marvel to some
An artful son on a roll on the track like a marble run
Spitting it smoother than parseltongue, you’ll
Try your hardest, and your heart’ll fumble
But the smartest of the smart all stumble sometimes
And if you're hardly humble and unkind
You might start a rumble with dumb rhymes
No part I’ll mumble, my fun lines
All are full frontal in poems
I’ll be writing bar after
Bar til muscle n bone
Get carpal tunnel syndrome
The art I’ve done’ll hit home
Regardless of my skin tone
[Hook]
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
But I’m writing rhymes in my notebook, yup
Writing it down and I’m writing it down

[Verse 3]
I’m a rarity, they’re terribly
Scared of me as an artist
In a pear tree is where I’ll be
Apparently I’m the partridge
Cuz I’m coming first, gonna harness
Every drop of ink in the cartridge
Trying not to stink like the garbage
So cold, you’d think I’m a smart fridge
But I hope y’all will listen
I’m clear minded and excited
And I’ve got an ill vision
Not nearsighted, I'm sick sighted (six sided)
Like a hexagon, it’s like a wizard
Put a hex upon my lexicon
I’m flexing on ‘em getting bronze
‘Til I’m on gold (I'm Mongol'd) like Genghis Khan
Yeah, it’s the half-white up at night with the graphite
The rap writer as bright as a flashlight
That’s right, finna blow like a bagpipe
And I’m as fly as a magpie in the damn sky
That high, talking altitude
What you know about the dude? I’ve found the clues
Cuz I’m an astounding sleuth, I now deduce
That whatever route I choose, I’m bound to prove myself
Typing this on a pristine Apple
Hoping that with every sixteen, this rap’ll
Paint pictures, with meanings that go over
Everyone’s heads like the Sistine Chapel
And not everyone will love you
But hopefully the mic’ll and you’ll open
The potential for a Michelangelo pen
Or a pencil, gonna write, my hand’ll know when
To stop, damn it’s late, guess I’m sleeping in again
But this ink is like an animal, I can’t keep it in the pen
Yeah, but whether the pen’s meaning deepens
Depends on whether I go off the deep end in the end