Verse1 - Fuck the bogus hype. Rocked a couple of open mics and already, you think you’re blowing up overnight? You must be joking, right? Best to disengage when I hit the stage or I’m comin’ at you in fits of rage. It’s the age of a new revival. Idols lose their titles if they refuse to move aside. That’s suicidal like smacking a tiger in fight or flight. Might as well invite a black widow spider bite or a viper strike. No antidote. Provoke and I’m going right for the throat. Choking until that’s all she wrote. Give a flying fuck. Try your luck and end up in ICU. Jaw wired shut like you were struck by the front of a fire truck. Now you’re the silent type when every day follows the wildest nights full of violent fights and siren lights. How else would you hear me over these alpha-males? Loud as hell cause they doubt themselves, so they shout and yell. Chorus - I only want enough fans to crowd-surf. As of now, crowds shout over my verse. So, if the words are drowning under somebodys’ loud outbursts. Break a 12oz over his head… Verse 2 - I chose this path to focus more on my vocal craft than social class. Jokes and laughs I got from the local mass’ll turn to chokes and gags from an open gash when throats get slashed with broken glass. Who needs a click? Mine are feeding kids. The rest are sleeping 6 feet deep. Hurts to speak of it and can’t plead the fifth. These people set a fire inside of my heart. I’ve gotta keep it lit. So, fry in hell. It’ll freeze before you see me quit. Might as well try and fail if you think your feet’ll fit in these Adidas Kicks by yourself. Eat a dick. This goes for all of you nightingales writing tales of time inside a cell for product you buy and sell to a clientele. Probably never spent a night in jail. You’re full of shit and I can tell. Chorus 2 - I just want enough fans to crowd-surf. As of now, crowds shout over my verse. So, if the words are drowning under somebodys’ loud outbursts. Break that shit over his head, just down it first.

Verse 1 - My aim is to invent a new lane… and stay in it ‘cause what’s to gain from a name in the cement..? I came ‘cause I was sent to engrain… indentation into terrain and claim the imprint… Never meant to keep playing the game ever since… Against lames bent on riches and fame. Vain to an extent… No intent to change the events… Hence, nothing prevents this pinch in which the present tense remains. James Adrian. Back again… Same instrument- ation blended with intricate accuracy… Established in intimate passion… the instant it happened. A past destined for history… Incidentally, accidental. I have to admit… Ask every ignorant half-witted belligerent pacifist split… from the rest of my personalities that conflict worse then a room full of hypocritical civil activists. Biblical passages predict… fascist vision of a dictator creating his mass division… multiplied by a blasphemous… sadomasochism labeled as pacifism… Subtract innocent inmates that get trapped in prison… Add the catholic/ christian cataclysm from days of the abolition.., Fractions in contrast to historys’ imminent crash collision as dated by mathematicians. Y’all are really imaginative… Such an elaborate spin on the difference in fact and fiction… shut your trap and listen at a distance… Mercedes, cash, and women are magnificent.., but it’s arachnid venom to anyone lacking wisdom… I don’t mean to attack religion or even capitalism… just maybe practice some intuition… fake theatrics never break the systematic pattern we’ve had to live in. Verse 2 - No need for ethics to lead this wreckage… Just strategic methods to reap incentives at the expense of people left with ramen and bread to eat for breakfast… Speak deception. Long as it keeps ‘em guessing… Increase revenue. To the priest that dresses in prestigious vestments… Peace and blessings. Preach your message, rinse, and repeat the questions… As for rappers acting egocentric… We need sugg- estions in a partly completed sentences… Teach your lessons. I’d rather redirect preconceptions… All thirty- three dimensions of deep perspective will leave you breathless… Beaten senseless with these lethal weapons… Speech has been the best means to relieve my stress… And ease the tension of unleashed aggression you least expected… This is a feasting session from the east to west end… Let the scavengers eat intestines… No cutting pieces separate to feed ‘em sections… That’s for weak digestion.

Verse 1 - Either they've really been spraying gats or the lyrics they say are whack (Nah. Fuck that shit, man.) When you hear me on blazing tracks that you're feeling, just play it back. Cause I know you’re hating if you ain’t willing to pay some daps. Grow a pair and just face the facts if you dare. You're to afraid of that. Cause you barley escape the fact you’ve been scared that you may get trapped under where you're located at unprepared as you fade to black taking a nap and then buried awake in your casket there never to make it back up to air. I'm saving low wages and waiting so patient to get played in rotation, 'cause I'm made to go places. Even with no agent payed to showcase hits to radio stations. It takes more than you got for me to stop short of the top 40 Hip-Hop. Ignore it or not, I’m spanking y’all ass. Your banks full of cash ain’t gonna last the length of a half tank full of gas ranked in my class, but thanks for the laugh. Chorus - Slipping under again stuck in this skin. This trouble I’m in has been rubbing it thin. (Exiled). Nothing to win. Even love from my kin or one my friends I grin but it’s pretend. (Exiled). Guzzling gin up to my chin still running from sin. When does it all end? (Exiled). There I go off of the topic. Jotting my thoughts more often than not. I’m exiled; lost in the plot. Verse 2 - I’ll admit a lot of y'all kids sit talking slick shit. I’m too evolved to get involved in the politics. Get off this big, thick solid brick dick and call it quits along with all your click, and audiences across the grid. I will knock ‘em across this topographic map off of this axis, drop ‘em on top a massive volcano while it's active. Watch as their body ashes fall like a box of matches sparked after they’re sopped in volatile toxic gasses. Golly gosh. Hot molasses. Drop it. It doesn’t matter which ever rapper is better. We’d smash competitors with collaborative effort. Gathered together. I'll never let vultures eat me alive fighting over these beady eyes. I won’t be easily bribed or culturally deprived. Though, it’s a tedious fight when people invite media hype to keep ‘em in tight sleeping at night. Even if I'd repeatedly tried to read and recite at the speed of a bright beacon of light beating it right deep in their psyche with the force of a meteorite. Instead, my words’ll live on through internet types lighting herb in a bong that click on my site to copy shit that I write in verses of songs, sit, and recite then spit in the mic then prefer I was gone. Oh, so that’s why it’s ate bits in a bite. Once I found another rout, the trick wasn't how to get up and out of this crummy town, but it was the doubt stuck in something down within my gut found sitting there under the pit of my stomach that kept me bound from touching the clouds. My head’s above ‘em, now. Kids are stuck in drug abuse wondering what's the use of the hunt for youth running from the truth hung up from a noose. Someone cut 'em loose. ‘Cause they just refuse to toughen up and choose. Quit fuckin' around. Chorus 2 - Slipping under again stuck in this skin. This trouble I’m in has been rubbing it thin. (Exiled). Nothing to win. Even love from my kin or one my friends I grin but it’s pretend. (Exiled). Guzzling gin up to my chin still running from sin. When does it all end? (Exiled). There I go off of the topic. Jotting my thoughts more often than not. I’m exiled; lost in the plot.

Verse 1 - Wake up! It’s the first of the month. Split the curtain for sun, light some herb in a blunt, let the earth in your lungs. If you’re thirsty, get drunk off your bourbon or rum. Let ‘em serve what you want. You deserve it this once. Another relax, recline, sit back, unwind, pass the time, glass of wine kind of joint would set it off, But I’ve got an axe to grind before I’m last in line to these asinine little masterminds without a point to get across. Pour alcohol for the tens of thousand quality men who only follow the trends of each and all of their twins. More dollar than sense or fully hollow within. The truth is, y’all are pretend. I’d never call you a friend. Better stay on first, because I strike like it’s my last day on earth. It ain’t a play on words. My word is my balls. I keep all of my eggs on one basket. ’Til I get my dumb ass kicked or lie dead in some casket. There’s enough trap and new wave, I’m getting back to the basic snare snap with a bass lick in an attack or basement. I’ve had it locked while you hacks have been safe and you know that’s a disgrace, so better pack up your case and hurry back in your place. ‘Cause you don’t have what it takes to really match with the pace. And, if I catch you in chase, then I’m acting in haste. Yeah, slapping the taste from out the back of that space you like to flap on your face. ‘Cause I would rather live among every last one suffering for the craft stuck rummage into trash while upper to middle class residents publicly laugh and chuckle drunk as they pass then to corrupt the gift as a hustle for simple cash, so pucker and kiss my ass. Suffering succotash. Where’s the love and the passion just a whole bunch of average wanna be thuggish drag queens. tucked in some lavish, comfy cover girl fashion what the fuck’s up with that shit? It ain’t just the stuff they be wearing that’s becoming unbearable. That hunger is rare when it comes to comparing it to an underprepared dummy who colors his hair. Sitting slumped in my chair with zero fucks to be spared, I wonder, “Fuck should I care?” Everything’s up in the air. It’s not like I’m unaware that nothing’s gonna be fair, but I’ve got something to share. It’s like, even the kick drum and a snare is in a need of a repair. Now, everybody’s a critic, but can you spot me a minute before you call me a cynic here, captain obvious? Let me finish. The artistry of the business is dominated by image I’m not gonna try to mimic for a captive audience. Caught inside of a system where jockey rider infringement has gotten widely continent on thoughtful writing and penmanship ostracized and diminished, discarded like it’s a hinderance, then processed by the man’s interest of bottom line number driven marketing. Chorus 1 - And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for the art. And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for art. Verse 2 - Your vocals are so exhausting, I need a beat break. cancel your leak tape and your release date. For Pete’s sake. No wonder the game cheap skated from peak shape to this weak state at a steep rate. Too many fakes beefs to keep straight. I wonder if these straight sweet cakes even eat steak. I’ll be the guy everyone doesn’t like. Keep your gimmicks. Shit, I must’ve done something right. Safe to say no one’s bumping these cuts up in the club full of wanna be thugs running amuck, clutching their nuts. I ain’t too stubborn to budge. Not gonna judge I’d like a couple of bucks published and such. Comfortable with enough. I never wanted so much that I’d become out of touch. I’ll take the public bus over a bubble to bust. But it does suck to be slumped in the cut stuck in a rut, drudging in mud doesn’t it? I don’t care who you fuck, what you own, where you reside, when you were born, how you live, and I don’t care why. A focused eye notices when the most closed-minded are those with both lips open widest. That nonsense you’re doing is another genre of music. People want Hip-Hop and I’m gonna prove it. If it comes down to it, and you ain’t up for anything, examine yourself, “Am I running from reality or chasing my dreams?” Can’t you tell? Chorus 2 - And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for the art. And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for art. And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for the art. And if I had to promise I’ll part forever from my own heart for number one on the chart, I would chose another department from the jump of the start and keep my love for art.

Verse 1 - What was it, 2008. We’d replay beats hours straight. Need I say. They were wildest freestyles to date, at least. Okay maybe it only sounded great to me. Either way, I wish I’d 've wrote down on paper. Should have planned forward, rewound the tape, and hooked the power cable into the camcorder that never failed to come out too late. I guess you can’t really anticipate inspiration. That was the truth you can't recapture in a booth, remaster and mass produce even if you had the proof. As a youth everyone knew Kane, ladies loved Cool James, 80s subsided overnight, and the mood changed. 20 years later, there’s new names. Like T-Chains, Lil’ Mayne, and Gucci Flames. Gimme Wu-Tang. Take Nicki Minaj. Leave Nas. Return Left-Eye to Chili and T-Boz. Please, God. I could sit under a shaded tree and leave with an album on great emcees from A to Z I payed a fee and went out of my way to see. I wouldn’t see if Drake if he booked a show up the way from me backstage for free. Poetic license revoked heading straight to the top. No eyes on the road paved by songs of old timers they recorded for fans who saved enough quarters cause they barely afforded the transportation to see 'em performing the jams they played in the only floor of their parents' or in their grammas' basement. That’s some golden age standard basic olden days before Run-D-MC bracelets sold in beige. Unfold the page. Whole different stages. You fakes look at Facebook notifications and lace hooks with notable phrases they took from quotable statements. Chorus 1- It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Wake up it’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Get up it’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Hands up. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. What, what? Verse 2 - The latest hits sound like a plagiarist half-assed it while taking a shit and gave the script to a crack addict. Congrats. Your mixtape is lit, but it lacks passion. I hate to admit, it’s getting hard to relate to kids, dag-nabbit. Now, it’s too late to quit, so, I’m back at it. Hip-Hop is a bad habit. Call me a jack rabbit. Just don’t ask me to dub phrases between cadence of instrumentation cliche as my favorite Disney cassette in ’86. I’d rather hear Black Sabbath.  I'm here to go the distance 'til I get motion sickness. If I ever controlled the district, chauvinistic dip shits who rose to riches off hoes and bitches will close their businesses. I ain’t over privileged, but I'm no statistic. I know logistics. Fixing to go ballistic on nit wits boasting of clothes and whips like a rich Jehovah's Witness. I'd rather promote the Misfits. What happened to composing writtens with prose as gifted as Souls of Mischief. Most kids listen to bogus diction over atrocious rhythms. No composition. An honest living in this music is almost non-existent. now it’s competition of who’s really gone to prison for pushing a strong addiction or pimping the bombest women. And most of those songs are written by cons trying’ to get mom’s permission to buy the neon addition J’s. they don’t know shit about carrying on tradition. Cats rapping to tracks with scratching on wax, backspins on mats, tagging and graff. That’s where it’s at. Mic check to peace out. I pleased crowds so well, the main act tried setting me up for a beat down. No one showed their face. Now, trap heads pop up all over the place. Wow. Most want to go numb bumpin’ a whole bunch of junk composed for no one to grow from, Still the reset won’t come down to a low hum. Chorus 2 - It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Wake up it’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Get up it’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. Hands up. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s the reset. It’s history. What, what?

They want trap music. I lack that immaculate talent to rap to it. I mean really, how the fuck do you sound that stupid? Never know. Might be seeing the Boom-Bap movement. back ever-so-slightly. I wonder if thug rappers would have gone in this business had they known their throwns would go to their own prison bitches. Forget what they do. I’ve stayed true since day two of my debut ’til I’m paid dues… I can see it now. Cause of death: loss of breath from all the stress he never got off his chest. Better soon than late to communicate. 'Cause if human nature of consuming hate accumulates before you're balloon deflates, you'll be doomed to a gloomy fate. In aftershock of scattered thought that matters not. Master locked in chatterboxes throwin’ shit at the wall to see what’ll stick and stay. So it ricochets and falls. The shit I say will leave a house party in disarray like Kid ’n Play did in the day. But, hey! Maybe I lied to your face. What if I made it to my destination, and all this motivation died with the chase? Oh my, what a waste… I'm an action fan so, imagine slamming the gas on a black sedan to escape an avalanche fast as you can. You backflip and land on a Trans Am in a Jackie Chan or Van Dam battle stance after crashing into a trashy van as if it was all part of the master plan. Well, that'll happen the day that I get a cash advance. But, if the happenstance came that I had the chance to pack the stands spanning from Pakistan to Japan and across this massive planet, I can't let it pass at a glance. 'Til then, I'm underground like a dragon ant. But you could map the land with all these fashion brands that dress every half a man carved and gutted by crafty hands like some jack o'lanterns. Pantomimes trapped within their own abandoned mines. And yet, I fantasize for that chance to shine in front of fans of mine. The answer why is in the hands of time. And the hands of time we can't rewind as dandelion pedals settle into the sand… Never mind. I'm over-analyzing our grand design. It's the panty line of fancy dimes and the rich, handsome kind of guys they stand behind. Never cleaned a shop unless you mean with mops. Haven't seen the top. Beside this dream, I've got one single shot to use things I'm taught to scheme and plot. So, I think a lot. Only genius thought will get this scene to pop off steaming hot. Not this childish pop sound no- body around this God awful county block or town should knock at even thousandth watt. Turn it down a notch, burn an ounce of pot pounding shots of Royal Crown on rocks or a round of scotch until it drowns your thoughts while you rock out to rottweiler wildin’ off the collar with the world’s foulest topics. I'll never understand. How can Locksmith or Rugged Man bust a rant over dusty samples like such a champ it’s above the standard… yet remain stuck on a buss or tram cause a whole bunch of fans are giving upper our hand to fucking bland wannabe thugs who can't come up anything other than running grams or rocking a couple brands. And the brands will pay a hundred grand to plug their damn product on camera. Man, what a scam. Just expand on truth, act tough, front and sham. It's raw proof you'd bust your hands if your knuckles slam up against my jaw once your fancy punches land. Sorry to crush your plans. You ain't Son of Sam with a gun in hand. I’d love a tramp ‘fore I bump your jams 'cause you stand as much a chance of advancing the art as a cover band does. And what? Stand up. Get your clan rushed. Get your whole damn life plan crushed. I got involved so I could take it back to the basics. The attics and basements where Hip-Hop evolved. All I get back are the faces. That, that stop and pause drop their jaws with a staggered amazement, shock, and awe. You would think I dropped my draws below the cock and balls. Quit making wack rappers famous; problem solved. I’m not the cause. Knock it off. But, what am I gonna do; kick a free off the top like a soccer ball? They rhyme fat ass with stack cash, mumble or rap fast, to dis- tract from the fact it’s wack trash. This back- lash is not fair. I a backdraft torched the magic ‘fore I got there. Beware the corporate horse-shit. Every starving artist storm the fortress into the heart of darkness. …You’re more than a target market.

Verse 1 - I’ve established habits that have ‘em scratching their head in psychiatric practices. I’m a spastic. I’m an addict for action packed theatrics. Gimme havoc. Gimme dramatic, acrobat gymnastic backflips. Watch the catastrophic collapse of an asphalt metropolis. Shattered glass fragments scattered upon fault fracture cracked blacktop. Casualties stagger backward toward some oncoming traffic flabbergasted. Watch a Pontiac Montana cause a tragic crash. Bashing into a Honda hatchback that smashes smack dab into a compact Nissan Maxima. Fasten that strap onto your lap. And don’t call it an accident. I am the aftermath of a badly planned disaster that hasn’t happened. Impact that wraps a cadillac camshaft into a taxicab van axel; Manhattan avenue traffic jam- packed to a part of town with rats running around ‘cause trash covers the ground and that’s dumbing it down pretty. Lemme snatch you off mommas’ tittie back to raw and gritty Yonkers city condominium flats. Word to Sean Mckinney. Crate diggin’ is top notch. Ain't shit else in a hate ridden croc pot except chop shops and hot blocks with a lock stock of Jack Daniels flask guzzling Cops watching transit ads where vandals tag. Dodging fecal matter, cock socks, and needles scattered on equilateral side walks is hop scotch minus the white chalk. Broken glass everywhere. Catch me smoking acid soaked hash in a last hope to mask potent draft of heavy air overcast. Some June afternoons, moonlight illuminates flowers that found room to bloom from pavement despite looming gloom accumulated by fumes. Chorus 1 - Warn your county when the album drops and watch how we split the ground for blocks. From the valley to the mountain tops. We right up earthquake alley with a sound this hot. Verse 2 - The moment is cathartic when artistry in me's displayed to grab the heart like coroners cracking open the rib cage. At this stage I aim to give blessing like a lit Sage up in your presence to lessen the stressing that you dismay. I'm rocking for the guidance of uprising from the pit flames. Shocking and surprising my lives finally hit grades to the standards of manners and banners will just get raised to your set and all the respect finally get made form the work. Observation going berserk to give the drive like angry hives yo we’ll be the ones you'll lurk. It’s all about the search to perch on what you crave. So, we come to overwhelm your sites just like a tidal wave and engrave upon the shores of this earth I will pave with soundwaves I work to insert in your days that now plays in systems for getting the living leveled for whatever dreams drifting and shifting into a shuffle. Chorus 2 - Warn your county when the album drops and watch how we split the ground for blocks. From the valley to the mountain tops. We right up earthquake alley with a sound this hot.

Verse 1 - I'm taking this from the deepest of depth to the peaks that I leapt steep as the debt when you're beat in a bet. Couldn't leave where I left off so I'll keep getting slept on by sleep- ers I kept like sheep of a shepherd. So here we go with the weep wept creep crept sweep swept meet met speak said read read. My feet have stepped this path in What Could it Be. Not my best. Maybe next to the worst. I’m first to admit. No curse in the text yet the cursive was hexed. Since then, I’ve become obsessed with death less than birth. Then again it wasn't even meant to make sense. The intent was to refresh people like me who tend to for- get the lesson a second grade teacher presented on ten- ses, synonyms, and antonyms. Correction; I was paying attention no sound I heard. Pronouns and verbs? I once struggled pronouncing words. This is just a round about way of saying I was down and out like a grounded bird. So, there are ticks when I tock. Nevertheless, of all the shit I forgot, I don't forget it was hot before hitting the shop then flipped when it flopped. A bit of a shock. Admit it or not, the release date was more of a drip than a drop. Yet I can't quit or be stopped. When I was ditched like a dog in a pit did I rot? No. I crouched down at the hip and I hopped at the tip of the top to get what I got. Now I'm picking my shots before the ship's at the dock. Chicks on this cock get my dick in a box Christmas or not. (Alright, alright stick to the topic.)  And the minute you thought it fit in the pocket I switch the monotony, split-up, and chop it ’til this content contradicts itself like a Micky D’s Whopper. Caught in a Biggie and Pac conflict before they were hit by the cops. Verse 2 - No other peas in this pod. You can say that I’m odd, even. I can neither confirm or deny, either. Nor conform to the norm in life, I swear. Could’ve sworn I was born to die in terror. Stormy skies gave fair warning over the north horizon. Forlorn. War-torn. Horror stories told of cold souls sold to hell for warmth. Time will tell if mine will sell when the bell tolls. Went to great length to hold strong. Held on so long my strength is gone, now. So, then this is how it ends. With a bow, I bend. Break. Broke opened the Holy book; turned pages. Read too deep. Should have rolled the refer in those papers and burned. Reaper rather if you prefer. Straight up hooked. The sharp, crooked blade will stop your heart the second it starts to mark it’s spot like a target dot. Hope is bleak. You spoke, now there’s nothing to say, so to speak. This payment ain't cheap. Accept defeat or be slayed. Sleep where you lay. Could be this week or today. Hope you played to compete. We’re molded from clay, but nothing is concrete. It dents and it snaps. It bends and it cracks. Can’t defend or attack. This ain't pretend or an act. As life comes and goes, you ain’t lending it back. Not just some or most. All that is conceived, dies. As we arrive, so we shall leave. In war or in peace. Your just a morsel for feast more less, at least. South, north, west, and east. Call it a test to pass. Past, present, trash, treasure. It can’t last forever. Questions asked are too vast to measure. Slow. Not so fast just as long as you know to ask the unknown, you’ve grown. I grew ’til I overthrew this thrown alone; no crew. I don’t care if they don’t or do. It’s blown; they blew it. That bird has flown. Bird flew. But if they ever deal with something I dealt with. Feel something I felt I’ll always be there to help ‘em heal. Man, girl. Any child of the universe in this world known as planet earth can stand to learn how to crawl before they walk. Walk before they run. Don’t be stunned in awe if you fall to see all you’ve earned become none.

Verse 1 - If I’m supposed to be happy, why am I out of place in a crowd full of smiling faces. Of all my hours wasted.., something must be holding me back from a comfortable calibration. And behold. A hottie so cold it ought to be a crime no parole. Never bought or resold for a pot of free gold. A fine pottery mold of art got ahold of mind body and soul and stole my heart. How many cases of wine have we left untasted for ages, now? Out tracing lines on pavement. No destination in mind. Just a place to unwind away from the grind was never wasted time. “Look up through the air across all four corners of the cornea of your eye. Who would dare try to ignore or deny the en- tire glorious sky. Before the sunrise, I die. “Why?” I warmly reply, “Each morning I lie there with you is a new af- fair reborn. Such pure euphoria only two can share. I stand corrected; all too aware of answered questions I never knew were there ’til I grew a pair and accepted, I kept full repair closed can. So, I planned an exit. Another nano-second with no antiseptic. I’d never heal again. What’s the appeal with this shield wielded from steel built to conceal feeling revealed really it seals you in. When the wheel’s in spin, can you steal a win from the dealer, then? Chorus 1 - Been running long enough. You’ve called my bluff. I’ve punished myself far too much. Didn’t want to let go. Girls or women. Dropped the pluralism and it’s a world of difference. Verse 2 - Like, “Damn.” Just to think: a one night stand became the slight chance of a life span you couldn’t quite plan. Course you’re the right woman. If I can I’d like to become the right man. I’ve grown a lot. I know if I blow my shot then I won’t be shocked to see a better man hold my spot. Somebody who listens. Easy to love and trust. Somebody with your ambition and gives you Orchids just because. Somebody who respects more than what you have to offer, can see himself as a father. Not a masked imposter whose only really shown use for getting through the night, then lets you feel alone. Somebody who’s your type. Before you choose your illusion, let me improve your sight. I want to bring the truth to light; I want to prove you right about what you see in me. I refuse to lose this fight. Chorus 2 - Been running long enough. You’ve called my bluff. I’ve punished myself far too much. Didn’t want to let go. Girls or women. Dropped the pluralism and it’s a world of difference. In all superlative wisdom, I see a world of difference.

Verse 1 - Connotation all excluded. A beautiful young college student. A soldier assigned to Fort Drum. Son of a professor. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Course I’m nothing like my father. Surely. You need the intellectual type. Why bother. Fast forward a whole five years. I’m still right here. I’d a had no idea. Close call. Almost headed overseas. But, I’m sure if I did, you would’ve froze for me. You know you’re kind of OCD. When it comes to Holiday gifts or groceries. You hate me when I’m smoking trees. Life didn’t turn out the way I hoped to see. But it’s just how it’s supposed to be. Yea, it’s just how it’s supposed to be. Chorus 1 - Sometimes the blues is just a passing bird. Why ‘can’t that always be? Verse 2 - Leave? I don’t even know how to. No telling where I’d be without you. Laughing aloud trying figure out how many couple friends that we outlasted, now too many to count. No wonder why I had to write this lullaby for my butterfly with the double colored eyes you’re my honey pie Don’t ever let ‘em tell you otherwise. Walt told me maybe I should settle down, make you my wife, and quit messin’ around. Good advice. Cliche as it sounds. You’re the love of my life and I’m glad that I found you. So many came and went. Some remain a friend. But, I’ll be damned if I ever bring you pain, again. You ain’t the same as them. I’m done playin’ the fence. Baby, I’m ready for the main event. Chorus 2 - Sometimes the blues is just a passing bird. Why ‘can’t that always be? Tossing aside from your birches crown. Just enough dark to see how you’re the light over me.

Verse 1 - Stillborn. Could have been killed morning after by an assassin in pill form. But still born. Rise and shine. Here’s a five to nine to balance out the mix up with your arrival time. I had the foresight. Then my third eye was calcified by tap water fluoride. I don’t know what defines real man, so I’ll keep bragging about the size of my pineal gland. How can a man of a strong integrity abandon the unapologetic degeneracy y’all imbedded in me? Nevertheless, I’ll never settle for less than than one step ahead of the next level of better success. Not a second get any to rest. Never got to a higher level. Just different dimensions. Same distance. Just different directions. Chorus 1 - Been given life and I’m not gonna waste it living lies or even behaving as if I’ve been civilized. Been polarized. Been followed by poltergeists. Been scolded twice at least with every piece of age old advise ever told ‘cause I’ve been holding my soul in a scalding ice. ‘Least I never sold the rights for the price of gold folded nicely. The toll is rising with the shadow of ghosts who I always seem battle the most. Verse 2 - Should’ve stole every Pun quote I could say in a hook. No one’d notice. Too focused on the way that I look. No matter how many shows I rule, all it takes is getting jumped onstage to go viral. Can’t slow my role. I wasn’t taught how to. You can’t distract real cats with shock value. So we can all just scrap like a pack of wild dogs or sit back and have a productive dialog. Of all the shit that I’ve done, a bitter taste stays from the days that I’ve bitten my tung. Gotta stick to my guns. Seriously, I’ve got right words. They just don’t want to hear it from me. The ones that would say I’m runnin’ away would call it stuck in the mud if I stay. The worst judgments may have come out of my best friends You wouldn’t know cause you’re surrounded by “Yes” men. Your fanbase is letting your head swell. They don’t hear your feet in background of your tracks walking on eggshells. No one else is bringing it. Could be wrong, but I won’t kiss anyone’s ass for someone to put me on. Record labels are putting me on ice. Treated like a neo nazi ‘cause I’m neon white. That isn’t me. I’m happy to be the mother-fucking capital P after the D. Ya mother’s after the D. I fear they won’t care long after I die. My whole pathetic career I’ve been categorized and compared with a guy who battered his wife, yet dies his hair blonde and wears contacts in his eyes. I’ll be damned if I let ‘em model me after another one of these carbon-copy novelty rappers. I’m not trendy. I’m not pushing a Bently. Just an emcee. Knocking a 40 back ’til it’s empty. THC in every one of my hair follicles. Blowing smoke all up in the air molecules, Been thinking a lot about masks. And how honesty gets you outcast to the dark side of a planet that doesn’t rotate. And you wonder why this complexion is barely opaque. I hate to be a nuisance. But I’ve got to tung tie the loose ends of those who’ve been rattling off with their 2-cents. Chorus 2 - Been given life and I’m not gonna waste it living lies or even behaving as if I’ve been civilized. Been polarized. Been followed by poltergeists. Been scolded twice at least with every piece of age old advise ever told ‘cause I’ve been holding my soul in a scalding ice. ‘Least I never sold the rights for the price of gold folded nicely. The toll is rising with the shadow of ghosts who I always seem battle the most.

Verse 1 - These days I find myself on the freeway driving so fast, trees sway when I blow past ‘em. I’ve nearly wrecked when the DJ quits playing my favorite hits ‘cause I was changing the station quick. Let’s face it. What does it really mean if I let your song play to the end and never feel a thing. Me, I’ve got illumination on time release headed straight to the 87 off I-90 east. Life is great. Looks like I’m making the right mistakes. On my shit like Nate Diaz at fightin’ weight. Can’t drop the ball for light work in them high skirts and tight shirts at the shopping mall. I might flirt with a slight smirk or not at all. Surrendered the foolish hooligan to pursue what I’m truly meant to do with my full intent. In past recollection, it’s clear my peers were too distracted getting ass and cracking beers to perfect the craft all those years. Still, they know that I care. I’m showing up there when American Airlines can lower their fare. Here’s to second tries; cheers to a better life. If you’ll excuse me, I was clearing names in my phone I don’t recognize. It’s past due for making a change. Start anew. Hard to do fixated on pain. When it rains, it pours. Washing away any fame and glory of many who came before me same ol’ story. Just painted poorly. Hues of blue over shades of green. Never jaded. Jade is one of the greatest shades of green. I mean I’m easily amazed the way sun-rays seem to break through leaves as if to create laser beams. How it sways and leans in a breeze sweeping the landscape like waves of a stream. Of all the breathtaking scenery that I’ve seen in nature’s kingdom. These are a few of my favorite things, However true are the subtle accents of a ravens’ wings. Chorus 1 - (Here’s to second tries). Hey! And let it float away with a wave. (Cheers to a better life). Hey! Verse 2 - Misunderstood. And there I stood under a bird in judgment unto what I heard ’cause my slumber was stirred? Life is finite. My entire life, I’ve have yet to be disenchanted admiring fire flies at twilight. By night, I wrote this next to a window sill upon which a whip-poor-will sits so still. The pane. It’s merely a cheap frame of a picture in which a tree stands between me and the Hudson River. I wish to see three fold of my complete view at the top floor, but I don’t need to. Not anymore. I’m content with the deep blue glimmer that sneaks through somehow as if to renew. Can this be true? The DJ quit playing my favorite hits, so lets face it. Change the station. Here’s to second tries; cheers to a better life. Nothing quite reenergizes like a farewell to the petty lies. Chorus 2- (Here’s to second tries). Hey! And let it float away with a wave. (Cheers to a better life). Hey! (Farewell to the petty lies).