Suplexes Inside of Complexes & Duplexes

[Intro: Mac Miller]
This is madness (Madness)
This is an outrage (An outrage)
As a matter of fact, this is outrageous (Outrageous!)
Hahahah, yeah

[Verse 1: Mac Miller]
Young sire, slap the fuck out Jon Cryer
Rough rider, raw bust inside a vagina like I want kids
My head continues to be haunted
I burn a city down while I'm unconscious
Maybe go and take some Quaaludes, conversate with Jesús
Batting practice with the motherfuckin' ghost of Babe Ruth
Do as a saint do, turn painful to graceful
The devil on my trails, I'm tryna find the Holy Grail
(Right there)
And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his target
Then I don't know why I even started
I'm sick of bein' too nice to people who don't do shit but consume light
Told myself, "Fuck the world, kid, just do what you like
Go and have a food fight, start yourself a new life
You're too bright to be inside a bunch of mediocrity
But all those big words ain't gon' get you paid
And those abstract ideas for sure won't get you laid
You got it made in that mad house
What the fuck you got to be sad 'bout? Go 'head and rap now
Do what you do best
I mean, that's what you do best
Matter fact, motherfucker, you a suit vest, you need to buy a new dress
I heard you and your girl live in a duplex
I'ma put her ass in a suplex, the sun east, the moon west
If you got a clue, what does a clue get? Nothin'

[Verse 2: Jay Electronica]
My milk and honey, my chérie-chérie amore
My Cinderella in her carriage by the doorway
Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the scarecrow
And the lion through the forest
To the Wicked Witch's fortress where she scorched them in the foreplay
Remember that? He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard
When he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard
Now the whole world's in color, still
How Auntie Em was next of kin but not her mother, real
Her face was careworn
I suspect she migrated from Kansas up from Dearborn
And had beef with Mrs. Gulch since the very beginnin' of year one
Mr. Candyman, the parables parabolic
The poetry's like the poems and psalms of Ecclesiastes
Lightnin' should strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet
The Judge will bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet
And yell, "Hear, hear," finally some order to this rap shit
Finally some sort of water to soil these cracked lips
I keep my shit crispy and elegant
So miss me with the irrelevant, the godbody is heaven-sent
The hard-body is reverence, since the son of Byford
Brother of Fal, every rhyme's halal
Every line is kosher, livin' la vida loca
Shout out to Tony Toca, we ballin' like we suppose to