Despot - King Me (Prod. by Blockhead)

Unreleased track from Blockhead and Despot called "King Me."

Lyrics:

[Verse 1: Despot]
Finger stuck in the nose of any shiny starter pistol
Stole it and figured a riddle for the trigger finger, tickles
Sends him dashing for the entrance to collapse before the middle
Super rapping, super laughing, sucka standing soaked in spittle
That's the sound of a trickle turning into a flood
And this particular water is thicker than blood
Graduate from sticking in dirt to sticking in mud
All it takes is piss on your turf to convince 'em to run
Head for the hills, king of those too and it fits like a glove
Plus dressed to kill, Governor fists full of face with a shrug
Death to the fools finding truth at eye level with the rules
I see shit better than you from the bottom of the shoe
Live from the pair of parentheses next to the wordpool
He came to claim his prize taped under the bar stool
And when that smile comes I won't know where to put it
'Til I carve it into someone who looks like he understood it

[Hook: Despot]
This is the kind of hat they give, king me
High chair and a plastic ring, king me
I'm proud of my fancy thing, king me
Two claps and the bastards sing, king me

[Verse 2: Despot]
Get on the floor and do the cement shoe dance
Sink into the new stance
Look ma, two hands
The smile in my heart moves to wherever the tooth lands
Tasting a hefty helping of "I'm bigger than you" and
Forced to kiss the ring of the same bell it was saved by
Suck it up, some runners-up are dumb enough to aim high
Grazed by the glory of a rich man in poor taste
Couldn't get the cat into the bag in the first place
See him sprinting for the consolation prize at a worm's pace
Cause going for the gold is a prescription to lose face
Blame it on the sons of bitches giving orders to move late
Ready, set, it should've left before they brought out a new cake
But blowin' out the candles always seemed trump feeding and
It's a great chance to spit on the crumbs that try leaving
When they all called him jolly good fellow for no reason
Keeps his nose pointed up at the only air fit for breathin'
While the rest say what little they got by not speakin'
At best get to twiddle their thumbs and dodge treason
Standing under that dunce cap by choice
Never thought of sharpening those olive branches to points
And join the ranks who dare to raise their hands and guess wrong
Follow footsteps to the start, a sad song
This little goody one-shoes with his Sunday best on
Oh it's right there if I needed a toe to step on

[Hook: Despot]