Lyrics The Breaking Point - Burt Bacharach, Chuck Jackson

The Breaking Point

Yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh
Look
Too many missed classes
Too many missed calls
Too many late nights
Too many with-drawls
Under pressure, time waits for no man
Even though I flow colder than a snowman
Nothing gets a girl hotter than a slow-jam
Take it from a kid in touch with his grown man
No plan for now, used to have it mapped out
The life that I live is the life I rap about
Maybe I’m dreaming
Maybe I’m fine
Maybe I just write it down cause I got it on my mind, man
It’s not a biography, it’s a rhyme
Reality or thoughts, either way this shit’s mine
Listen to my flow, get into my mind
Can you feel the urgency, I’m running out of time
(Let's go, let’s go, we gotta go, hurry up)
I gotta blow up
Quickly, Baby it’s me
I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but I hope you don’t miss me
Like I’ve been missing you
And I’ve been meaning to call
They said I’d get the money, I ain’t seen it at all
What am I doing, what type of career am I pursuing
You see the cats winning, you don’t see the ones losing
See my team working, don’t see my team snoozing
Foot on my pedal till I know my crew’s in
I’m all stressed, feel like I’m the best
But I gotta lot of weight that I gotta get off of my chest
Got a brain for straight 'A's
Hate the grey days
I’m late for vaca', I got no patience
I’ve been in the basement too long
Mom called, told me I said a bad word in my new song
I hate that shit
I wanna make her proud
But everything I like is everything I’m not allowed
Find a line, try to walk it
Find the right words, try to talk it
Not good enough, I’m off it
Feel like I’m a target, turn that shit around
Kill a critique with a 16, try to put me down
I’m a good book, got a good girl, she a good look
Hard to make a good song work without a good hook, these days
It’s late, but I’m on at night, like PJ’s
They kill for this like free-jays
(Let's go, let’s go, we gotta go, hurry up)
Yeah, uh
Get a job, Pat
What’cha getting that degree for?
Why you go from a four-oh to a three-four?
Take them headphones off, put the phone down
Pull your pants up, don’t you know you’re grown now?
So what, you’re saying the good days are done?
Odds might be against me, but I might be the one
Bet it, and write the date down when I said it
Don’t you forget it
Flow so unique, rare like red meat
I kill rhymes and create haters so give me credit for these dead beats
It’s on like that, night time got me gone like that
Take your queen with a pawn, like that
It’s no problem, smarter than these little bitty idiots
Get the bread diviate, give it to my affiliates
Easy, right?
But they wanna take the kid down
All I hear is bitches, I leave the lid down