[INTRO]

Yah, I got this song from a rap generator
However, the lyrics are based enough to be considered
Post rap

[VERSE 1]

The can drops deep as does my banana
I never rap 'cause to rap is the boy of Anna
Beyond the walls of Crocs life is defined
I think of balls when I'm in a Clayton state of mind
Hope the Americana got some arcana
My piano don't like dirty Santa
Run up to the cabana and get the Anna
In a Clayton state of mind

[VERSE 2]

What more could you ask for, the based can?
You complain about not being epic
I gotta love it though somebody still speaks for the stand
What the fuck are these bars?

[INTERLUDE]

I'm rapping to the compass, and I'm gonna move your gyro-compass
Definitely gonna move that gyro-compass

[VERSE 3]

Epic cringe sauce, like a bathroom
Boy I tell you I thought you were a boom
I can take the not being epic, can't take the apple
I woulda' tried to run I guess i got no chapel
Rapping to the gyro-compass
And I'm gonna move your compass
You've said that bar seven times now rap generator
Yeah, in a Clayton state of mind

[VERSE 4]

When I was young, my boy had a fan
I was kicked out with no span
I never thought I'd see that pan
Ain't a soul alive that could take my boy's scan
An incredible handbag, is quite the lag
Thnkin' of balls
Yeah, thinkin' of balls
Clayton state of mind

[OUTRO]

Apologies for the cringe, rap generators are just a little bit
STUPID