Verse 1 See me sitting, soaking up the atmosphere Gaze around, its crystal clear that the cash is near Sweaters is cashmere Fresh Js from last Pillow cases like oil paintings, plenty Mac smeared The return of Monet Bitches charging at me trying to get wifed, I matador em like Ol Sidestep, get out my face what kind of game you trying to play Couple weeks back you were getting dug out by my ace Now you Say you turned over a new leaf Transformed to a housewife, but you a legendary groupie Loose Lucy Trying to play mother Theresa But on the low, you chasing Mastercards and Visas This FIBA You cannot kick it in my league Im busy with the director finishing touches on these scenes Hustle I respect, but after neck I gotta jet Just looked down at my Bulova Im bout to be late for soundccheck Outletc Chorus The worlds too much, until I hit the stage Simple instrumentals send fans into a craze Trying to get paid, forget a minimum wage Im loving every second, Im praying it never...fades x2 Poor mans studio in the basement Blunt blazin Im penning that Wes Craven Horror stories Lines born in laboratories Final scene coming, I promise Ill make it gory Scalpel in my pocket, removing you rappers kidneys Flow cold, touch my CD, youll lose some extremities By any means protecting those, thats kin to me Got my diction from the circus, watch me flip these similies 24 hours a year, we on guard Fake thugs toughing, want to show that their hard I dont got time for the games, or lames that play em More concerned with grabbing this mic and causing mayhem Grow up, get out the playpen Elevate your station Worry about yourself, then you can stop second placin Im just sayin DJ mixing, cant miss my cue Throw back this brew You know exactly what its time to do Chorus x2 Verse 3 We got Babies cryin, politicians lyin Litigation smokescreens, debt multiplyin Welfare line filin, nuclear stockpilin Domestic terror, selfpoison, police with the sirens Break free of the tyrants Might even take some violence Time to make some noise, nothing came from the silence Church and state separate, but joined, like a hyphen No facetoface fighin they wear ghillie suits, snipin Its nothin new, paper, glass, cardboard recyclin Its all trash to me, you hear the garbage they recitin The bars been heightened So gone get to climbin Trying to feed the world with this food for thought through my writin Lately the state of rap is really scaring me Less focus on rhyme, fixation with the melody That plus the fact that I might not make it to 70 Time to hit the stage, move the crowd, soak up some therapy Chorus x2
trying, fighin, selfpoison, stockpilin, outletc