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Artist: Childish Gambino f/ Hypnotic Brass Ensemble *, RZA
Album:  Royalty
Song:   American Royalty
Typed by: 

* Hypnotic Brass Ensemble plays instruments throughout

[Intro: RZA]
Digital, Childish Gambino
Mixtape demonstrations
Yo, yo, yo

This Oxycontin carbon monox' and toxic concoction
Collapse your brain cells, they swell from lack of oxygen
Leave the opposition stuck, without a pot to piss in
Hockin, spittin up blood, shark by sharp precision
Dart incision, darkness imparts your vision
Sparks infliction, poof, I'm a mad magician
Verbal plasma, verbal scatter, words that shatter
every atom in your body, now you're anti-matter
Rippin through the data, checked into the doctor
Took his rhyme splatter, cause my mind's faster
You're fallin down to ground, while I climb the ladder
Too much garbage in your gallbladder, fall flatter
on your face, now you're carried by the pall-bearer
Or wear the black suits, eyes all teared up
Oh no, when your hoe make a boss lit up
We in the rear with a smirk nigga, all geared up
Childish Gambino or Bobby Digi'lino
on the tracks, we breakin more backs that Sammartino
Bruno, we saw more baselines than Juno
Change more law in New York than Mr. Cuomo
Godfather novels I write like Mario Puzo
Master time fix the clocks like I'm Hugo
Hold the weight like nine sumos
Bust shots like John Lugo, you know how the Wu go!

[Childish Gambino]
Yeah, okay
Look sharp, homie give yourself a face lift
High brow, eyebrows on a spaceship
Take sips of that Ace of Spades-es
Savin all my money just to waste on a bracelet
Can't see them haters, we don't give a fuck though
Charge it to the game, keep a lame so cutthroat
Never slip a fast one, the game is so in front of me
Travel 'round the globe, spend and make about a 100 G's
Pack them crowds up, boss like Bowser
Deep pocket poetry, my custom trousers
Thank God they found us, the game was starvin
I'm clean and concrete, you ass and Charmin
Bobby Digital, do you really think these niggaz know shit?
Shoppin in Manhattan and I ran into my old chick
Pride is a bitch, I am not a grown up
Tweetin when I'm 70, these half-dead followers
She look like she Spelman, secretly she Hofstra
Put her in the club, all she wanna hear is Waka
Put her in the crib, all she wanna hear is Waka
She jerk when I move like her old boy popped her
Home is that Outkast, soul like I'm Phonte
Old school +Jay+ like Beyoncé's fiancé
Back on my dumb shit, nigga we the stupidest
Gave them niggaz real shit, don't know what to do with it
I did what I did man, did you really see it though?
'Bino hard and fast, niggaz Sweet'N Low
American Royalty, family loyalty
We cream of the crop; why the fuck would we stop?
She had two sons, both of 'em good grades
Both of 'em rap songs - where did she go wrong?
Nowhere momma, we just go where the money at
Black Kennedy, where the fuck you niggaz at?