Soul Khan, F Virtue, Dom O Briggs, Illingsworth - Stop Hitting Yourself lyrics

Soul Khan illingsworth on the beat
And the raps with Virtue and Dom O Briggs
On everything this motherfucker bangs
Let's get this one pregnant

Fresh out of carbonite stasis
Dangerous, so entirely flames
The inside of my veins
Have got caramelized platelets
Now all of my haters join
The party like Magus the bona fide greatest
Came with some humble advice
Seen a lot of White Rangers
Changing your colors and stripes
For the sake of a couple of likes
'Cause you wanna die famous
You're still lukewarm as a review
For a food court
The hoops that you're jumping
Through for success are making me facepalm
I'm basically napalm
What I do's more essential than room, board
And sex so Hugh-Laurie-esque
Your mother's sending nudes
At school board events
I'm such a clever dude
Like Duncan Penderhughes in huge Warby specs
I'm cold
You just Cole trying to hustle rent-em-spoons
Look at me mixing these
Metaphors and similes up
And I don't give an amphibious fuck
Circling for crumbs
Man that shit is for ducks
You couldn't test me if I pissed in a cup

Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop
Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop

Now I'm Sherlock Holmes slash Yung
Lean out of Stockholm
And mixed with a black part
Mixed with a Marvel vs capcom
Team of Cable, Sentinel, blackheart
While you button mash I'm clowning
Soon as the match start
You speedwalking, I'm cartwheeling
You sketching amateur caricatures
I'm art dealing in suit's made of
The rarest most expensive starched linens
My guard listens so much i wouldn't even
You still in charred denims
It's faux pricey rap, promethazine, Dimetapp
Instagram, tiny cats, , tiny hats
Achieving more than superhumans can
With brutish hands
Standing out like fully-suited man on

Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop
Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop

Ready to spark on these tracks
Kinda have that effect
I'm kinda pompous on my balls
Homie now give me respect
I'm super chill though
Don't ask me why my eyes low
That means he got'em
See, when I rap, I train apostles
They say eating pussy makes your beard grow
But, I've been eating cats for years with
My lo mein and my street flow
Heh, and I still ain't got a beard yet
I've always been the youngest
Child rebel, soldier, a little threat
How'd your beats your rhymes, fuck your crew

You can't spar with the Brooklyn god
My arms are ordained with scriptures
I'm mistletoe-fisted

Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop
Stop hitting yourself
Why you hitting yourself?
Stop hitting yourself, stop, stop

Who the F is F Virtue?
No one, 'cause no one's perfect
Went from the cervix to the surface to Earth
Prematurely stirring genetics and scopes
Getting a leg up before legs
Could balance on ropes
A mongoloid thinking the bong's a toy
Making retarded raps
How much fam have my songs employed?

And anyone who started from
The bottom's long gone
I wouldn't diss dudes on my
Own tracks like K-Dog
I only work with MCs I love, and I hate lots
So guest features are with those
I'd have as dinner guests
Now let's get jealous and mad
At what the winner gets