In the East, they call me the Crocodile Man
I offend like the blending sands of Tajikistan
I once knew a cat called Gumboo Patel,
A gentleman I met in a Burmese cell
And he sold me a pair of royal blue kicks
And he told me to swear by the loyal true Styx
That I’d never stop rippin’ fresh rhymes to the bass
And skippin’ on the beat like a stone on the water’s face

The provocative rock steady, percussing the clock
Shot blocking, evocative, timed and tick-talkative
Bollocks I give, but don’t never receive in kind
Rising from the stone-cold slab like the monster of Frankenstein
So partake of this wine
Living on the turn of a dime
Somebody’s ass on the line
Like a candle, they shine
Can’t handle the life of vampirin’
Still my ass can try, but it’s tirin’
(Where the hell is my dog Lord Byron?)
Information in entropy
Why the hell don’t somebody send for me?
Kid’s algorithms lick schismatically drastic, you spastic
A palace of stochastic topaz
A castle on sacred land
And this ain’t goin’ nothin’ like the way I planned
I had a jam but it done slipped out of my hand
So Satanic, you can call me Mr. Flagg, Randall,
That peripatetic man from The Stand
I got Zoloft, Abilify, amphetamine salts,
Trintellix. I sleep on the Trazodone,
Mixed with no Skrillex.
I’m dealing with this daily
They railroad and jail me
A little bit of a whale, you see
I go chop-chop
Makin’ a living by takin’ and giving the props
Not not
I’m straight to the top of the pops
A true newly-deputized stand-up guy
My crew rugged in Chi, and like fraternally wise
You won’t be catchin’ any pop-up flies.
And then you want to know why?
Because you still got the moons of Saturn in your eyes

And that’s got you hypnotized

And I’m not surprised

In the East, they call me the Crocodile Man
I offend like the blendin’ sands of Tajikistan