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Plastic Papers

by Wiser Observer

on Breaking Point (2017)

[Intro: Wiser Observer]

[Verse 1: Wiser Observer]
Pull up on the track with a drastic flow
Run up in the booth it's a casket show
Rapping's pretty easy when the bar's so low
Your flow's only sick when you've got a cold
Ha, that shit's gross
Rappers got drive Imma get them towed
How we let these motherfuckers get so close?
Imma bag this beat, imma tag those toes
I'm warrior, with the mind of a chief
I'm warning you, better hear when I preach
Better find some release
Better find you a priest
End of times, end of times
Wiser's here ending guys, ending rhymes
I'm the one, I'm the prime
Where's the line?
Blast them up, had enough
No not yet, you're not dead
Bars on bars I'm prepared
Bars on bars, sentencing
Can't compare, comprehend
My flow now you're not there
Precision, you're missing
I'm thinking, I'm linking
My life with my spitting
You listen to trending
You're biting, you're lending
Man I swear you guys so lazy
Made a deep rapper lose patience
Been introspective lately
But now I've gone batshit crazy
Now it's like, "Fuck you. Praise me"
Now it's like, "Fuck you. Pay me"
I'm married to the game, you gents just dating

[Hook: Wiser Observer]
My shit's so refined
My shit's goldmine
Your shit needs some class
Mine is columbine
I see through the haters
Common denominators
Think it's bulletproof
That shit's plastic papers

[Verse 2: Wiser Observer]
I changed my tone now
Your verse get thrown out
I'm like a proud ass dad, my shit's so grown now
Punchline flow got jabs
I'm in a whole new class
Your song's like an open book test
Uuuh, I'll pass
M.R.I, Wiser that's the record
Us two we're groomed, young kings in the making
Army of two, hip-hop's secret weapon
You'll get dropped any second
I feel like I got worth on my name
I feel like I could burst into flames
Flame on
How the fuck you let Tuma work with Raymond?
Your neighbours probably going to think you left the stove on
Put your speakers in the sink in case they go off
Man my mind's on the brink it's about to fall off
The rhymes in my head will blow my face off
You're like Monday to Sunday, bra, you're weak
I work Monday to Sunday, bra, no sleep
I do reconnaissance, it's that deep
You don't pay attention, man you're so cheap
Stop looking for a spot in the game there's no more
You people are just crowding the way of the whole door
Rappers with talent ya'll are FOMO
Spat twenty-four bars I still got four more
Still do not know
I'm breaking these jaws
Don't bite on my flow
I make my shit raw
I will not rest
Aim at you head, aim at your chest
Who the fuck's next?

[Hook: Wiser Observer]
My shit's so refined
My shit's goldmine
Your shit needs some class
Mine is columbine
I see through the haters
Common denominators
Think it's bulletproof
That shit's plastic papers

[Verse 3: Wiser Observer]
Do not underestimate me
I plan my bars deliberately
I'm aiming right between of your eyes
Your shaky lines, are aiming to please
I've got shit that's breaking my health
I've got heat that'll put you through hell
I spit lines that's scaring myself
I go hard like under my belt
About that stash like under my nose
Naked truth like under my clothes
I've got soul like under my toes
I've got meaning under my flows
There's so much hate that's under my wit
I swear your girl is under my- nah
She's on top, I'm under your-
Have your ears right under my grip
Don't undermine
I kill this shit, a patient crime
I feel this shit, it's on my mind
Like all the time
The realest shit I always write
I never lie
Take the game, the world is mine
I want the light, keep the shine
Got the drive
Ya'll are parked, pay your fines
Man your rhymes don't work better call in sick
You are not the hot dog you're a cold ass bitch
This a Kodak flick on your clone ass shit
Niggas want to be rich, but they don't have shit
I'm working night shifts on your graveyard
Making sure that you stay where I left ya'll
Zombie rap get clipped
On your tomb I spit
Can't cop my drive when you don't have stick