Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Writer's Block, artist - Fatlip. Album song The Loneliest Punk, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 22.04.2008
Record label: Delicious Vinyl
Song language: English
Writer's Block |
One out of every two people that see me |
In the street ask me about my CD |
What style will I create? |
And what’s the delay on the release date? |
I hate to tell y’all the cold, cold truth |
I’m a old nigga in the vocal booth |
Coulda been a legend like Big and 'Pac |
But I caught a bad case of writer’s block |
Writer’s block, for those unaware |
Is a condition that’s hardly rare |
Often compared to a tree that bears no fruit |
A bank account with no loot |
The inability to produce a thought |
Ideas get stale, brain cells rot |
Failed attempts at concentration |
I’m in a state of psychological stagnation |
So whatcha gonna do? |
You try to write it but nothing will come to you |
Don’t try to fight it, tell me, what’s it gonna be? |
Don’t lose your cool, I know it’s usually so easy |
But now you’ve been caught up with writer’s block |
Stuck on stupid, thinking bout the new kid |
On the block, as the clock keeps ticking |
Time is of essence, must maintain presence |
Out of sight, out of mind |
Still can’t find the words to explain |
My joy and my pain, I’m going INSANE |
Like the nigga from The Shining |
Everything on the line when I’m rhymin |
The only way I pay rent, I represent |
The only way I eat, I rhyme to a beat |
The only way I buy clothes, I rock shows |
Now you can see why the problem is posed |
Yo It’s kinda crazy when you think about it |
I mean niggas get paid just to say what they think about |
This that and the other. |
It sound easy |
But, on the real, everybody sound greasy |
Talk gangsta when you really ain’t one |
The last gat you blasted was a paint gun |
Paint fictitious pictures to get richer |
When you really a bitch, I ain’t mad witcha |
I wish I could make people believe |
That I slang keys and tote D’s, but I’m sorta like a fuckin' dweeb |
And that don’t sell |
I never been shot, or been to jail |
But I’m beginning to wish I had been |
Just to put it down on a pad with a pen |
Cause I just wanna ball with the rest of 'em |
Be inducted in the hall with the best of 'em |
But for now, it’s just a dream |
Cause I can’t think of one fucking thing |