Lyrics
I’m respected in this game, I’ve rocked every spot I’ve been in While you can’t show your face like Islamic women rocking linen
But I’m stuck living in mom’s house without a fucking bed
Cause these major labels put out wack emcees like Pumpkinhead
So I ain’t touching bread, I’ve been ducking feds
Ain’t even hustle for myself, I spent it on some cunt instead
Got nothing left, every breath is harder than the last
When success seems out of reach, slipping farther in the past
That’s why I’m trashed, sparking up this hash in a session
Packing up more angel dust than the attic in heaven
That’s why I’m pissed off like having a bladder infection
With broken catheters left in my dick when I have an erection
It got me liable to snap in a matter of seconds
Pulling Mac-11s like Pun from the back of an Acura Legend
I just think of my future, past and the present
Try to capture the essence and find some sort of lasting impression
But all I found’s a corrupt cop’s act of aggression
Grabbing me and smashing my head in with the back of his weapon
That’s why I’m beyond the blessings of a Catholic confession
And why I take cash when the plate’s passed for collection
I’ve had it with being the illest rapper to step in Lacking success in the game when dudes bite like they don’t have a reflection
I’ve had it with these labels so I’m breaking the mold
Cause they ain’t just taking creative control, they’re taking my soul!
The reason I’m a liar, the reason I’m a thief
The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat
Is the reason you avoid me when I’m walking down the street
And it’s probably the same reason I’ll end up deceased
The reason I’m a liar, the reason I’m a thief
The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat
Is the reason that I wild out and riot in the street
And it’s the same reason my fucking life will never have peace
Yo I think about Hip-Hop and how they just take it away
Cause I grew up when Wu-Tang got rotational radio play
But nowadays if I say shit I’m nothing but a hater
Til I pull a rusty razor and cut your face, like «fuck your paper!»
Maybe I’m mad cause labels use food stamps to pay me But I can’t be only one who’d rather hear Boot Camp than Jay-Z
So yeah, I’m underground and my fans are backpackers
But at least my fans don’t buy mixtapes full of wack rappers
I can’t front, I listen when I’m in the club grabbing tits and
The bass is so loud I don’t hear the trash you’re spittin'
All that glamour, glitz and packs of crack you’re flipping
Won’t be real 'til you stop bragging and say it was a bad decision
If you’re anything like me, you’re poor with a tortured past
Getting beat by pigs because your pants are half off your ass
Ain’t tossin' cash in photographs with some camera crew
You was black and blue in handcuffs on New York Avenue
That’s the truth, that’s the reason I’m almost suicidal
Feeling out of place like Muslims with a Jewish bible
Been taking drama from my baby mama, now my mind is gone
Weight of the world’s on my shoulders, and eight planets piled on Rifle drawn, pointed at the cops when you calling them
Six million ways to die, I’ll try all of them
Holding a Glock and squeezing until they stop my breathing
I know I’m crazy, don’t ask me why, I got my reasons
