| Red eyes, car tires, late nights
|
| Pretty women, my main guys, late flights
|
| Living through my days like this ain’t life
|
| Dreams I can’t lose so you know I press snooze twice
|
| Focused on survival
|
| While I get my cake because the game a vicious cycle
|
| Going for the title, respected by my idols
|
| Living by the Bible now, so they calling me a psycho
|
| See, that’s why I say the world’s iffy
|
| Thoughts move through swiftly while I’m breaking down this fifty
|
| And I’m screaming «free Mike, Ness, and Spiffy»
|
| Til they let my niggas free or the lord come and get me
|
| It’s just the way I’m feeling
|
| I see these clown niggas slipping
|
| But my lil bro tell me they all banana peeling
|
| On the top chilling
|
| Waking up in a young actress' loft
|
| All the windows from the floor to ceiling
|
| Rolling weed as I rise from my sleep
|
| Constant reminders why I find her a freak is what follows
|
| And no matter, stripper, actress, or a model
|
| Guarantee you by the end of that bottle they all swallow, fool |