Two percent, two percent
Look...
Battle Scars from war torn simulations
Carte blanche, Inshallah, I'm God's favorite
Tried get across enlightened thoughts in dark places
Had to find a source, realize my flaws, then cross fade it
I fell in lust, couldn't stay in love
From lovemaking into vacant trust
No more "Us"... It's complicated
From midnight to matte black, back on pavement
Still ain't get enough, back in them cuffs, incarcerated
Would, coulda, shoulda, is what it is
Shit's what you make it
Saved all the tears, if it's understood
Ain't gotta explain it
The Hasselhoff of the Comic-Con
The fan favorite
Do the dash, then I... look, ay
Do the dash, feet on the gas, we barely made it
Still in tact, ready to scrap like it was mandated
Man down strap in the Jansport, the class favorite
Bad Behavior, the last option, the Black savior
Driving force, through knowledge born
The caretakers
Found a cause, settled the cost,
Then got assassinated
The connoisseur of the conference call
10 years jaded
Tupac Shakur of provocateurs
The land's greatest
Follow me
Two percent I'm riding down the highway
I can't roll in fishbowls anymore, no
Two percent I'm riding down the highway
Follow me
Two percent I'm rollin down the highway
I can't roll in fishbowls anymore
I'm rollin down the highway
Follow me and I'll lead the way
Follow me won't lead you astray
Follow me I need you to stay
Follow me
Follow me and I'll lead the way
Follow me won't lead you astray
Follow me I need you to stay
Follow me
Follow me
Follow me
Two percent, two percent
Two percent two percent
Two percent two percent