A Kid Who Made Mad Beats Watsky

[Verse 1]
It’s the legend of the kid, start listening in
So many beats inside him that he couldn’t fit in his skin
Selekta with a deck better give him a spin
Nod you chin, baby grin, while you’re sipping a gin
Just vibe to his beats, don’t pick the punk route
Stick em in your ear holes, clean the gunk out
If you believe in heaven E’s up there dumb loud
Sitting on a cloud, with a rowdy ass crowd
Each beat oven-fresh, bish none repeats
One day he made like 50-leven-hundred beats
Made the beat dough and lined em up on cookie sheets
In neat rows and fed the people fifty-leven-hundred treats
Halfway cooks got half the cake
E’s got more cream than a calf could take
Some people just crafted to craft the break
And E crafts more breaks than God crafts lakes
And snakes and earthquakes, at faster rates
Makes more beats than teen kid masturbates
Grabs the crates, creates mad masterpieces
Maps to places that no path reaches
Homes for the nomad, my notepad screeches
Nose to the grindstone, there’s no bad peaches
Each is a butterfly chrysalis
I’m gonna go grab my headphones, it’s Christamis time