VERSE ONE - MORE OR LES:
Look like "Mickey Smith as an Auton" - shit is all wrong,
'cause it ain't quite right. You've said a "Swan Song"
to reality and quality? What a policy
To endorse any and all fallacies ‘cause you wanna be
Grade-A without doing the homework. That won’t work.
Try to appear as something that you aren't, means you aren't
what you appear to be. Odds don’t like ugly. Don’t flirt
With "almost real" - sends a confusing message ‘bout your worth.

VERSE TWO - CHOKEULES:
Yo More Or Les, these phonies got me bored to death.
So I’ma kick a hornet's nest, it’s for the best.
Organ theft, you can hear they got no heart.
Claim to be the culture but they clearly play no part.
Y’all faker than my faux fur.
And no sir you ain’t rollin’ with chauffeurs.
Don dada non grata false prophets.
On God I gotta beg y’all stop it.

VERSE THREE - TIMBUKTU:
almost , close but no cigar
like the lawnmower man with busted VR
confusing the real with a pretty nice knockoffs
robots whole noggin full of botox
no props faker than a photo op
till the getting lost in the valley where it drops off
don't front eerie feeling
revealing the skin in the mirror peeling
releasing the fear within and elephants in the room
irrelevant to the crew cause they
can't perpetuate or re-interpolate what we do
they can't handle the truth

CHORUS:
Looking at you hard - something ain't quite right.
Yo, you're looking kinda odd, something ain't quite right.
I'm looking at you hard - something ain't quite right.
'Cause your look is kinda odd. Something ain't quite right.

VERSE FOUR - SHUBZILLA:
Things look dire from my perspective
Is it ‘cause I’m tired and introspective?
Four A.M. on a Wednesday night
The quality of sleep? That’d be mad-light.
Waking up at least twice to change and feed.
Baby-zilla up early - what she gotta need?
Red-alert. When the tears drop, won’t stop flowing
Seeing spots - it don’t matter. Gotta get the day going.

VERSE FIVE - INT EIGHTY:
A portfolio of enemies advance on these gates
Full of stolen identities I can't keep straight
Evasion of the quickest eyes, shutter speed is hypnotized
Social Insurance Number instantly synthesized
Weary, declaring the proof, a true zombie
Scared and unsharing my roots removed calmly
Massacre carefully the Bourgeoisie
Mr. Robot dare speak, the mask wears me

VERSE SIX - JESSE DANGEROUSLY:
Uhn! What's real to the fake
Stand out in your field or go jump in a lake
Starting to feel like it was a mistake
Just taking up space without nothing to say
I built a platform; a pulpit to project from
What was that for? I'm the culprit you protect from
Consequences. I'm the cause of constant tension
You let my lies slide nine times here comes the tenth one
Get done, my tears are lethal weapons
I am one bad mother of invention
Unrepentant with a penchant for falsehood
When I look you in the eye and tell you it's all good

VERSE SEVEN - MORE OR LES (again?!):
Can't replace greatness with makeshift constructs
Why’s the urge to take low-quality products and pawn stuff
off as premium? The diff’ between your thoughts
and the authentic’s, a large crevice. I'm not feeling 'em
half-assed attempts to look good. Not a good look.
So phoney G's steal ID's, like a crook would.
Accents fake. You’re acting strange - Cumberbatch.
“Class” in place of “plastic face” - run with that!

CHORUS