| Swelled up and I am blue, purple from bruises
|
| Just a few couple several rusty screws loose
|
| No way in hell I’m letting you move thus
|
| What you mugs might consider think say fuses
|
| Heckling heads that though I’d slip stupid
|
| Snuggle up to my sound now as if I shot like cupid
|
| My lans, my people spit it up to soothe it
|
| Rearrange with the ruses that rose so ruthless
|
| Since I was little, I was tied to the music
|
| Ya should’ve gone in the first day you flew in
|
| Instead wasted years beating off and goofing
|
| Dropped out of high but remained a student
|
| Not one for great speeches but I think I’ll say
|
| Unsown my mouth with words decayed
|
| Knees sore walk off the pain, poets die and poems stray
|
| No day at the beach hopefully
|
| Try not to slip in of the beast, 'til our next ride 'til we leave
|
| I need what I eat so i keep eating 'til I’m full
|
| Mean what I speak so I keep speaking til I’m through
|
| As I grew pursued brew, don’t look at me rude dude
|
| You ain’t never cruised in my shoes, my Clydes
|
| So don’t act like you know what you ain’t knew, my life
|
| Spit crack, live rap, while my boy weighed OZ’s
|
| Coke? |
| No weed low-key, I drank OE, 'til theres no left, only
|
| Thing got gold left’s the tostones
|
| Pops cooked away the trouble of his day
|
| All the Oxy out his cupboard that I ate, vomit
|
| Step in the puddle that’d I make, and everything I’m busting is straight, truths
|
| Everything you publishing is fake
|
| Back to the Ox the pain up in my stomach that it gave
|
| Made me nauseous when i’d eat, vomit when I’d speak
|
| In school, it made me cautious when I’d sleep
|
| Dr. Degraff please don’t call up my dad, tell him all the possible paths
|
| I could have took. |
| I should have took, I would have took
|
| If I hadn’t heard or, I wouldn’t look
|
| At that certain song or that certain image
|
| When I was living in singular digits, now its double and it’s trouble
|
| One nine son blind, by the rubble
|
| I am breakfast, lunch and dinner
|
| Be my saint I’ll be your sinner
|
| You’re too near not to hear as we ride
|
| Beat don’t hurt your feelings, then what’s the point, no point
|
| Came to you running, heard you starving, glad I heard your hunger |