Mat4yo, Michael Stephen Moore - Misleading Me On Lyrics

I wake up every morning with crust in my eyes
Cut from a dry slice of rye toasted with jam on the side

Jam on the side?

I part time DJ it's no surprise
That this jockey's all about the equestrian life

Like the Kentucky Derby I ride for a bucket of fried chicken
But General Tso said no, so I kicked him into the kitchen
Fists fly as I wrestle with him like match with Peter Griffin
Left him lying spread eagle, but word got out and PETA chipped in

They squashed us like guac you could dip a pita chip in
Mixed with some salsa like a dancing Puerto Rican
And them kids in the Caribbean they just had the port a-reekin'
Of a seafood dinner Kid Cuisine won't be freezing

But when life hands you lemons, be sure to thank it for the free "zing"
Onomatopoeia doesn't "pop" off trees like Korn does
We're freaks on a leash doing tricks on a string like a
Couple yo-yos. Huh, hey Mat! Guess what we got 4 of!

Sorry if I'm always going off on a tangent
Can't find anything derivative to add in
This is not a math class, this is a rap sesh
Put 2 and 2 together can't you see we are that fish!?

Know what we need now?
Non-sequitur?
Nonsense, quitters don't lob a lot of logic round writing a song
So like a fifth grade love letter, just pass me the baton
Excuse me, Miss Leader, quit leading me on

She's so fit and very hip I can't compare me
My body wouldn't got definition if I ate a thicker dictionary
Don't know how she fits those steps into a tiny box
But I know she won't need to see a doctor with all the bytes in her apple watch

Watch for Apples? Nah, but I'll keep my eyes peeled for an orange
If you drink that juice with I.C.E., then, you're signed, sealed, and deported
Jesus told Stevie Wonder he'd have the blind healed or recorded
Now I dance to "Isn't She Lovely" dressed in high heels and a corset
Of course it's tailor made, call that Pork Roll on my torso
I hand sow my cornrows cause Old MacDonald's furloughed
A tiger for my rug, you could say I keep that fur low
I'm the G.O.A.T. milking Tom Brady to send a Ram home

So let me drive the point home like it's uncomfortable at a sleepover
I'm so comfortable oversleeping that I might turn into bread soon
Cause I wake up every morning with crust in my eyes
Imagine my eyes' ire when I rise in a bedroom full of bed rheum

Sorry if I'm always going off on a tangent
Can't find anything derivative to add in
This is not a math class, this is a rap sesh
Put 2 and 2 together can't you see we are that fish!?

Know what we need now?
Non-sequitur?
Nonsense, quitters don't lob a lot of logic round writing a song
So like a fifth grade love letter, just pass me the baton
Excuse me, Miss Leader, quit leading me on