W.E.B. Songtext
von Count Bass D

It ain′t your lucky day, no beat or verse specials
The one-legged tap dancer's name is the devil
Plotted my demise ′fore I knew what was happening
Heartbroken, we fell out, Damar Hamlin
Straight to the lab, sharpening my sampling
Now they asking, "Who died and left you king?"
Count not, Charles, you a junior like Carl's
Best be aware for who the lion snarls
For beat feet when you see worn bear scats
Selfish protagonist, didn't even save the cat
Matter fact, where the money at? What you think this is?
Uncle Sam′s a part, I want mine, he want his
Your ghostwriter needs an editor, better to catch a predatory creditor
That′s lending your bread, pretending to Have your best interest, unethical rates
You more interested in DMs and Tinder dates
Bid you adieu like skinny Adele
Who's compelled to squeeze wifey in Gazelles
She never cared ′cause he couldn't grow a Philly beard
Up and disappeared and I think that′s weird
Ceased to exist like mountains in Kansas
Search for a clue, even canvassed the campus
Left empty-handed, damn near stranded
The brother thought for sure that he had the advantage
Schlong long like a Fela Kuti song
Couldn't figure out what the hell went wrong
Blown away by her grace and poise
But she was WEB, she don′t do boys

Yeah, I do


Cut
Cut
One flex, the other the swerve
The rift between DuBois and Walter White widens
Of the men we have produced outside of Africa, so far as I'm
Personally concerned, DuBois was the finest example of an intellect
Cut
One flex, the other the swerve
They be waiting there
Kill the noise
Cut, cut
Man, for real