Lyrics Therapy - Kid Cudi, Blu, Talib Kweli

Therapy

1: Evidence]
Dear People, it’s a minute since I checked in
Record’s still spinning where I left it
I done a lot since I seen you last, shit moving fast
The world got itself in a real hurry
Still I tell 'em: worst come, don’t worry
I bought that crib with the dough you left me
Then hit the plane toured the world
So bills made the first with rock babs and Al right beside me
Life is poison, it’s ivy
I ain’t speaking on yours, that’s how mine be
He ain’t lying, eachI write the next minute of your life
Flow’s ghetto the hood’s my lively
Good health, yeah yeah to that
Another year in the black, so many years in the red
I was losing my mind, I was up on my game
Right person, wrong place, just ahead of my time and it’s mine
Where do we go? Where do we go?
Where do we go when we’re losing our minds?
Where should I go? Where should I go?
Where should I go when I’m losing my mind?
Where do we go? Where do we go?
Where do we go when we’re losing our minds… minds?
This is our therapy
2: Blu]
Dear People, been a minute since I checked in
Mention, checking mics, collecting checks but kept the step in
Stepped in with Ex but had to «X» a couple best friends
Who let ends be the reason I left them
The left wing of the west wing
Venom in them cobras when the wind blows
Been on it since the moment rain was pouring out my window
I danced in it, in my b-boy stance
Standing in the midst kicking stanzas to chicks
Till they dance too
Cool as a fan, too, student of the true school
Catch me in a band and a gang calling plays
Play da fool I make the rules
Call it lame but it’s the law
Play the war yet whenever they play the song y’all get loose
Off the juice, busting hard earned bars to scar loots
Scarred youth, my heart’s firm y’all are saw truth
Gol-Lee, cross-breed between Spike, God, and Bruce
When I’m kicking it, they’re wondering if God’s talking to Blu but it’s…
3: Talib Kweli]
Dear People, on the corner’s where the evil
Created a share of the drama
That got the tears from your mama
Hittin' the steps of the steeple
Livin' unfair and unequal
Lies to the afterlife this here, you ain’t prepared for the sequel
These rappers is see-through and transparent
This man’s spirit deal with advanced lyrics
They can’t hear it, I can’t bear it, I can’t wear it
It’s trash, it’s lyrical masturbation I’m not making a fashion statement
Youris doctored I call 'em quacks they lacking patience
They just want they validation, congratulations
Try walking the streets till four in the morning
Looking for rappers to battle feeling like you’d die if you ignore your calling
Then hop on a greyhound, LA-bound
Perform in the club while they busting shots, stay down
Got it for the cause, just because they clap don’t mean that you need the
applause
Dear People, sincerely yours