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let it all go
Go, forget it, let it all go, let it all go
Go, forget it, let it all go, let it all go

A hack writer judges my swipes and my smudges
see the smoke it's fire
Outliers chalk outline
The straight liars
All the backbiting hack writers
Indra's web trap spiders
Breathing in the backfires
tay
Yo, my parents still don't understand
How their stoner son could turn a
Silver tongue into a brand
Hack pulp writer, neither young or in demand
More
head jus shook, and shook
Lips keep moving, I ain't saying nothing
Hack of a writer, less of a husband
Its hard to believe that you came alone
Barfly got
could be my longest fall
My longest fall

You could be my
You could be my longest fall
My longest fall

Despite what they have told us
These writers are
built schemes that destroyed recaptcha
Hate what they see, finish this chapter
By the way we're not any geeks, we hack into NASA
Drink all the booze
Hack
the literary vandals
I work in lies

We'll hack your phone now, baby
We'll tell you lies
Track down your car
And then we'll cut your tires
We'll hack your phone
wish i was a writer
So i could spin you words of gold
But i think in pictures
And can only rephrase 
What i've been told
What i've been told

Surrounded
and good rap
Black Pendleton ball cap
We don't share the same synonyms, fall back
Been in it before Internet had new hacks
My innocence limited,
de hack track
Hack track, eu falo de rappers que me tentam indirectos beefs por aí
Mas cuidado eu abaleio nigas sem balas
Escrevo no papel sem barras
The great poets and writers must be laughing or crying 
Like Dylan, Thomas, Eliot and the words they were supplying 
Like Achebe once said "Things fall apart"
The invisible hand upon our shoulder
Built by writers, lawyers, soldiers
The match alights, the parchment smolders
And every statue gets knocked over
your nail
My wrath; a side of rain
A black, or white terrain
It's now; my time for fame
You lack, the writer's brain
We clash; so might refrain
From this
Well, the hack at the doorstep says it
The midwife with her forceps says it
The demented young lady
Who is roasting her baby
On the fire
Yeah babe,
Well, the hack at the doorstep says it
The midwife with her forceps says it
The demented young lady
Who is roasting her baby
On the fire
Yeah babe,
Sonny's going down for miles and miles
Sonny's going down for miles and miles
 
The writers didn't like him the fight game jocks
With his lowlife
smiles
Sonny's going down for miles and miles
Sonny's going down for miles and miles
Yeah

The writers didn't like him the fight game jocks
With his
rolled up to make a sale on it
Then all the fat news writers eating altoids
Put a mother fucker killing kittens in tabloids
Another brown boy under the rug
spread through the east, oh yeah
Now who'd have guessed it that producer, spinner, writer
Would be making killer music like the second that he tried to?
real is irreplaceable
That which is real is irreplaceable

Trash rappers best hire a ghost writer from monster
Notify the trash Police with shinny
the back of the car says
Babe, I'm on fire
Babe, I'm on fire 

Chorus 

The hack at the doorstep says it
The midwife with her forceps says it
The demented
waitin'
Hear my tracks, need a medic, they too sick, make em patients
I'ma hack, back with the cheat code, and the fits too dangerous
Toil in the soil,
in pitch black night vision splice living with life hacks
Broke, flat, spokes snapped, soaked in a rain coat, smash the stint: heart attack
To try
Well-rehearsed bullshitter
No rush, no blush, no rouge
The hawk, the hack, the all-talk
Keep the economy on track
Zero hours contract and military combat

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