Sauce Is Matisse, T-Bone, Patrick Malichi - Netflix & Chill Lyrics

My intention is to never mention anything depressing
But the lyrics said injected in my head, I'm left infected
I'm wrecked and reflecting, while chilling in my bed sick
Well shit. I Guess ill watch a lot of Netflix
Adam West and Angela Lansbury apparently
Are my two key celebrity grandparents who parent me
Nice.
But when compared to people near me, I appear to be
A freaking Inbetweener, I'm barely there, I'm a parody
Like if the Pet Detective and Tina Belcher were facts
Got married and had a son they named Barry Allen, the Flash, who rapped
Now what you gotta say to that?
I'm mad and impractical, laughing at me, name is Matt
I'm hyper observant, quite the disturbance when I'm right
Which is all the time, like I been learning lessons in life, Psych
I might be Malcolm, a cocky person, unliked
Like a righteous sermon, psychic in timely words that I write

"Holy rap syllables Matt, your flows killing em!"
So why I get the feeling ain't nobody feeling em?
I'll spit the subscription, ticket to shows, stealing em
But nobody been watching me Netflix & Chilling em
They don't see me
They watch TV
Seen on repeat
They don't need MPT

I got a Monster feature like I'm Dr. Krieger
Knocking speakers while I'm watching all the Archer seasons
I've Arrested Development of my carcass, deep in
My meditation, I'm medicating my Martian feelings
I'm spaced out, an Ancient Alien Asian
And caucasian, pained by his alienation from A-list
Placement, I ain't invading the playlists
They all changing the station, they wont tape it, erase it
I'm lacking in publicity's imagery of an idol
I'm Mr. Robot, but I wont ever go viral
Eye-roll, I am a hack or a missing title
Anything a legitimate hit isn't, I know
But I'm original, Siri isn't in the know
I'm lyrically invisible but clearly invincible
I've written dope, pick a show, click it and I'll spit the flow
I'm betting that my script is sicker than a medical drama

I've been feeling like a talking head, I'm the Walking Dead
A Stranger Thing like Eleven in a lofted bed
Every song's regret, but it's all I get
And so I don't know what you fuckers gawking at
Bitch