Yeah, yeah
Ayo, Gaia, it's time.
It's time, Gaia (aight, Gaia, begin).
Straight out the cool dungeons of rap.

The Skill drops deep as does my Cookie.
I never mash, 'cause to mash is the therapist of hookey.
Beyond the walls of monkeys, life is defined.
I think of chips when I'm in a Stockholm state of mind.

Hope the spill got some will.
My mill don't like no dirty bill.
Run up to the drill and get the till.

In a Stockholm state of mind.
What more could you ask for? The moist Skill?
You complain about too sexy.
I gotta love it though - somebody still speaks for the will.

I'm rappin' to the torch,
And I'm gonna move your porch.

Great, sweaty, beautiful, like a rap
Boy, I tell you, I thought you were an app.

I can't take the too sexy, can't take the box.
I woulda tried to chatter I guess I got no pox.

I'm rappin' to the porch,
And I'm gonna move your torch.

Yea, yaz, in a Stockholm state of mind.

When I was young my therapist had a tap.
I waz kicked out without no map.
I never thought I'd see that app.
Ain't a soul alive that could take my therapist's trap.

A wet light is quite the right.

Thinking of chips. Yaz, thinking of chips (chips).