Lyrics

Verse 1
Yeah, I’m rollin' down the alley with a pocket full of pie,
Got a chameleon in shades, yeah, we rollin' sly.
Pulled up in a hoverboard made of mashed peas,
Takin' names, throwin' pomegranates, swervin’ with ease.
My llama's got a chainsaw, she’s got beef with a tree,
Flippin' flip-flops while I'm ghostin' in a guava spree.
Got a goldfish with a blade, calls himself Sly Slim,
He don’t even swim; he just sips on rimmed gin.
Chorus
I’m the phantom of the fruit stand, slingin’ fresh dirt,
With a pepperoni hat and a mustard-stained shirt.
Knuckles like concrete, I’m the pickle kingpin,
Mess with my squad, yo, we chuckin' cayenne spin.
Verse 2
Got my trench coat stitched with bits of fried rice,
Step to my squad, yeah, you payin’ that price.
Runnin' with a badger who’s got tats on his teeth,
Throwin’ apples like daggers from the corner of the street.
Midnight heist at the bakery, stackin' baguettes,
My homie’s got a yo-yo with butterfly nets.
I’m a renegade raccoon in a raspberry coup,
Slappin' fools left and right with a Kung Fu kazoo.
Chorus
I’m the phantom of the fruit stand, slingin’ fresh dirt,
With a pepperoni hat and a mustard-stained shirt.
Knuckles like concrete, I’m the pickle kingpin,
Mess with my squad, yo, we chuckin' cayenne spin.
Bridge
I got juice on my jacket, all pulp, no shame,
Droppin' mango grenades while they whisper my name.
Duckin' down in the shadows with a tarantula squad,
Crawlin' up walls with a peanut-butter facade.
Outro
So if you see me creepin' in the broccoli aisle,
Better watch your back, yeah, check that style.
Street cred drippin’ like a cranberry flood,
'Cause I’m the lord of the lemons, the sultan of crud.