[Intro]
(Fuck)

[Verse 1]
Why—(Why—)
Are expectations so high? Is it the bar I set?
My arms, I stretch, but I can't reach
A far cry from it, or it's in my grasp, but as
Soon as I grab, squeeze
I lose my grip like the flying trapeze
Into the dark, I plummet, now the sky's blackening
I know the mark's high, butter​flies rip apart my stomach
Knowing that no matter what bars I come with
You're gonna harp, gripe, and
That's a hard Vicodin a swallow
So I scrap these
As pressure increases like khakis
I feel the ice cracking, because—

[Chorus 1]
(It's the curse of the—it's the curse of the—)
(Shit)
It's the

[Verse 2]
Curse of the standard, that the first of the Mathers disc set
Always in search of the verse that I haven't spit yet
Will this step just be another misstep
To tarnish whatever the legacy, love or respect
I've garnered? The rhyme has to be perfect, the delivery flawless
And it always feels like I'm hitting the mark
'Til I go sit in the car, listen and pick it apart
Like, "This shit is garbage"
God's given me all this, still, I feel no different regardless
Kids look da me as a god, this is retarded
If only they knew, it's a facade and it's exhaustive
And I try not to listen to nonsense
But if you bitches are trying da strip me of my confidence
Mission accomplished
I'm not God-sent, Nas, Rakim, 'Pac, B.I.G., James Todd Smith
And I'm not Prince, so—
[Chorus 2]
(It's true, I'm a Rubik's, it's true)
(It's true)

[Instrumental]

[Verse 3]
It's true, I'm a Rubik's—a beautiful mess
At times, juvenile, yes, I goof, and I jest
A flawed human, I guess
But I'm doing my best to not ruin your expectations and meet 'em, but, first
The "Speedom" verse, now, Big Sean
He's going too fast, is he gonna shout or curse out his mom?
There was a time I had the world by the balls, eating out my palm
Every album song I was spazzing the fuck out on
And now I'm getting clowned and frowned on
But the only one who's looking down on
Me that matters now's DeShaun
Am I lucky da be around this long?
Begs the question, though
Especially after the methadone
As yesterday fades and the Dresden home
Is burnt to the ground, and all that's left of my house is lawn
The crowds are gone
And it's time da wash out the blonde
Sales decline, the curtain's drawn
They're closing the set, I'm still poking my head from out behind
And everyone who has doubt, remind
Now take your best rhyme, outdo it, now do it a thousand times
Now, let 'em tell ya the world no longer cares
Or gives a fuck about chour rhymes
And as I grow outta sight, outta mind, I might go outta mine
'Cause, how do I ever let this mic go without a fight
When I made a fucking tightrope outta twine?
But when I do fall from these heights, though, I'll be fine
I won't pout or cry or spiral down or whine
But I'll decide if it's my final bow this time around, 'cause—
[Instrumental]