Verse 1
This rancid anthem bangs like We Are The Champions, jammin in the ampitheater, lampin, the malcontent candidate charter's crash landed, you're enamoured with the mammoth master blaster Bartertown tard harking garbled jargon thats so impeccably errant, the syntax and slang of a tyrant is heir apparent, smoldering manifestos read on air, flaring off like a fair one, this rhyme is the reprisal of pariahs forced to face their goliaths to find Jehovah Jireh provides and guides us, in this environment of dire straits, ire, and iron hate, where iron fires in trembling grip of novices spiraling strays, the United Nations conspire to bind the sovereign places under the guise of 'peace and safety' rumors of war continue wafting as a stench funk adjacent, confusion adjudicated, ruminating brewing to ruin the lassez faire mood of the complacent, notice the ogre posted with his stoic poker face, chosen moniker's jotted lower case for posers watching closely, yeah

Hook
Welcome to the carnival
you are now rocking with the honorable
and you can try to play me like a commoner
but you dont wanna come test the carnivore
its like
Whatcha gon do? Tell me whatcha gon do? (x3)
it's all on you, lil daddy now what you wants to do?

Verse 2
Tyson circa 92 verses everybody, when he voicebox apocolypse with Cus D'Amato ergonomics, gauntlet flanked with miscreants, daunting when a myriad of spitters keep phleming and swear that they shot licking, Within the crimson mist, believed they injured him yet never hemmorhaged, pigment blended like Himba limbs, Namibian, you either see the threats with the Malcom extraterrestrial, Mecca pilgramage spectacles, or be stretched somewhere much less distinguished than a ballroom, the next ghetto spectre, malt beverage dedication to be poured on cracked pavement, memory mingling with Marjijuan-ganjah vapor, indelably militant melanin nihilists waving, and rarely waiver, perhaps your masterful analogy was framed in fallacy, flattery distorts truths symmetry replacing it with vanity, only thing you manage to fathom in your analysis is f*ggotry, this fracas is a gatling rant against your tranny mannerisms, (Ha!) and if your hands had any wisdom, they'd keep lampin in your pockets, instead of so eagerly reaching to dap friendly, thats why spying defiler fiends conspire to fly you the evil eye spiked with a vile of E.Coli, erroneous ceremony, skull and bone proned mumbling, globalization has a strangle yoke on autonomy, its coming.