[Apt]
Never was one would could fight the funk
So he folded his clothes and he packed a trunk
A snack, a lunch, and headed for the heart of the slump
Sprayed shots from his tongue at the start of the bump-bump
Boom-bap, set his tooth as a trap
Only fighting chance to get his youth back
But the reaper, she creeped, uh, gave him two smacks
A believer, his fever caused him to lose track

[Apt]
Made himself a masterpiece but still feelin’ like a sadder beast
So what’s happening?
Thought he was finally managing to start dabbling in the saccharine
Dem bones rattling. Demandin’ him some new stuff
Flopped on the solo, gonna try it while he crewed up
Used up the closet but the promise bigger
Got himself a house full of bones to configure

[Chance Lewis]
Ever since he was a youngin’ he's been gunnin for the stage
No one's running a mixer in the dreams of teenage
Kids with stubby fingers blame it on his DNA
Born with 2 left hands can't shred but he can play
He's giving up the gun, picking up Reason
Got a folder that he keeps all of his beats in
He used to curse the stars but now he's telling em
Thank you for the limitations of my skeleton

Chorus: How’s that? Nonsense. How’s that? Nonsense. Nonsense. How’s that? Play them bones. How’s that? Nonsense. How’s that? Nonsense. Nonsense. How’s that? Play them bones.

[Donnie Bonelli]
Lone in the cut, smoke in his lungs
He’s hoping the drugs open him up
But he’s cold when he’s killin’ a 16
“So fresh!” “He really is pristine!” See him on big screens
Back hackin’ at tracks again
Coming immaculate with it when they pass the mic
Call him Donnie Bones (aka) Lil’ Basilisk!
“How do you feel?” Mr. Bones feels rattlin’!

(Haha...haha...haha...that’s a good one!)

Y’all cattle, he’s channeling Mackaveli and Madison Ave.
“Think he could tackle?” He’ll John Randle ‘em!
Hackin’ like Johnny Mac and them.
Got diabetes just to hear these little sweeties call him “saccharin.”
See them seats? He gonna pack ‘em in.
He’s got the acumen. The dude’s a snack to them.
“And all the demons and diseases he’s been scrappin’ with?”
He kicked their asses man! They’re in the past, the wind!

Chorus: How’s that? Nonsense. How’s that? Nonsense. Nonsense. How’s that? Play them bones. How’s that? Nonsense. How’s that? Nonsense. Nonsense. How’s that? Play them bones.

[Rhyme Time]
Brickwork boxing bubblin’ up blisters
Blast through the plaster slabs ’til the wrists hurt
Tiny cracks creepin’ in the sounds of the whispers
Crumbling to rubble freedom for the victors
Typecast, hype fast, don’t last, die fast
Labels are the fables, hook a left to the right path
Tried to box him in but he boxed out
Got his own style, made a hole and he walked out

[Outro]
Dem bones, dem bones, dem
Dry bones, dem bones, dem bones dem
Dry bones, dem bones, dem bones dem
Dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord