They love the fact you made it, but hate the fact you got it.
The stairway to heaven is packed…I’m in the lobby.
Too scared to go to sleep, cause most times I often doubt my dreams.
You stackin cheddar cause you working at the burger place.
Why give you the cure when the disease makes money?
I thought I’d probably die in prison, expensive taste in women,
Ain’t have no pot to piss in, now my kitchen full of dishes.
Nose bloody from that sniffin’, your heroin addiction
Trigger finger itchin’, fuck parental supervision…
Purple sippin’, finger twistin’, teeth glisten like it’s Memphis
A bunch of hypocritic Christians, the land of no religion.
You not cut from the same cloth, you chinchilla soft,
I’m Brillo Pad coarse…take your skin off.
You rub me the wrong way,
You a suit and tie nigga…P hoodie all day.
In my heart, though, I do believe:
If you put out more love than you receive,
It’s bound to come back around, eventually.
You got a lot of money; OK, sure…
You can’t buy class, you’re a bum with a manicure.
Science only answers ‘How?’
Religion only answers ‘Why?’
The two combined is the true design,
So respect to God cause He drew the lines.
Murder isn’t a crime when you just killing time.
I never asked to be born, and death’s no question.
The sun’s still shining off the same old lessons,
Then why does life feel like an educated guess?
And my thoughts are like meals…I’m a sucker for the seconds.
Once you find your lane, you can’t cruise;
When you define the game, you can’t lose.
We could fight the fuss till we get like friends,
Or somebody bite the dust and we split like ends.
Even in our wildest moments, girl, I’m on it cause you’re worth it.
Practice makes perfect, so we fightin’ for a purpose.
I’m a cold winter morning, y’all Summer’s Eve.
Takes a long time to happen so fast…
To realize that your future is somebody else’s past
Question religion, question it all,
Question existence until them questions are solved.
You don’t really get why I’m so pissed?
I’m an artist, and I’m sensitive about my shit.
If you ain’t using all the talents God provided you with
For the betterment of Man, understand,
You ain’t nothing but a waste.
On the real, fuck your opinion.
I made it this far, and you broke.
My old soul remains forever young…
I’ve done it all, and still I’m doing shit that I ain’t ever done.
See, it depends on your definition of winning;
I ain’t started from the bottom, I started from the beginning.
What’s the basis when rappers don’t know the basics?
Still not takin’ advice from those I wouldn’t trade places with.
I play chess, but my past is checkered,
The mic and I are like staff and shepherd.
Niggas out here buyin’ hoes bags n’ shoes,
But couldn’t buy their kid a new coat for school?
Back when Fresh was the word, and “Raw” was on Prism,
Marley on the boards, plus Kane was Long Livin’.
G Rap and Ace spittin’ murderous,
Bought Long Live the Kane, sat down, and learned every word of it.
Sneakin’ my Walkman in the homeroom playin’ it,
Listen for punchlines, delivery, and cadences.
But nowadays, it’s like niggas wanna play with it;
They hear some good shit, but don’t stop to savor it.
Do the math: You never settle for less than the whole if you knew the half.
I’m real good at troubleshooting;
When there’s trouble…I start shooting.
I only drink Cristal, or Imperial Moet,
No more weak ass Rose, that’s why the game too sweet.
We don’t wear tight ass clothes, we don’t do down South beats,
That ain’t New York–I restore our identification,
‘Cause dick-riding never been a form of transportation.
Life is like a box of chocolates, you fill your body with toxins,
And amoxicillin and penicillin to cure your illness.
But in realness? These medical companies will get you monthly
Prescribing me pills that make me ill, just to comfort me.
I’d count my blessings, but I suck at math.
I’m so Rakim and Eric. B, bitches check out my melody.
I might Slick Rick on a fella…catch me a felony.
I might Shyne Po a ho…POW! Catch me a case.
Producto must have rolled the L because this blunt feels laced.
Time flies, dreams die, people lose faith,
Tryna hide behind a lie with a straight face.
What’s better than tripping is falling in love.
What’s better than Letterman, Leno, Fallon, and all the above?
What’s better than popping bottles trying to ball in the club?
Is the first caveman pops with his son, ball and a club.
What’s better than paper is balling it up.
What’s better than followers is actually falling in love.
What’s better than frolicking, follies, fallin in mud?
Rolling in green pastures, wandering, following love.
What’s better than eating is feeding your fam.
What’s better than meetings is missing meetings to meet with your fam.
What’s better than leaning and needing your Xan?
Is hitting your zan dreaming a dream could mean leaving the land.
What’s better than yelling is hollering love.
What’s better than rhymes, nickles, dimes, dollars, and dubs?
Is dialing up your darling just for calling her up.
There ain’t nothing better than falling in love.
We ain’t speak, clicking heat is our Morse code.
Be a king? Think not.
Why be a king when you can be a God?
When you feeding on hate, you empty, my nigga. It shows.
Pain is joy when it cries, it’s my smile in disguise.
Nothing’s been the same since they dropped ‘Control’
And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes.
Ha-ha! Joke’s on you, high-five, I’m bulletproof,
Your shit’ll never penetrate.
Pin the tail on the donkey, boy you been a fake.
This is my time, this is my hour,
This is my pain, this is my name, this is my power.
If it’s my reign, then it’s my shower,
This pole position…I made a lane ‘cause they blocked ours.
Those who flashin’ don’t blast, they still buffoons,
Just blowin out hot air, they should fill balloons.
I’m like them shorties that could kill for goons,
They started hustlin’ in April to cop wheels in June.
My new shorty got a gymnastic back,
‘87 emerald green on a classic Jag.
She had the cleft palate, I ordered chef’s salad;
She had the club foot, with that little arm,
I couldn’t help but laugh…she ordered Chicken Parm.
They say that love is powerful as cough syrup and Styrofoam.
All I know is I fell asleep and woke up in that Monte Carlo
With the ugly Kardashian…
Lamar, oh, sorry. Yo, we done both set the bar low.
What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high,
Who tryna jump and get it? You better off tryna skydive
Out the exit window of 5 G5’s with 5 grand
With your granddad as the pilot he drunk as fuck tryna land
With the hand full of arthritis and popping prosthetic leg
Bumpin Pac in the cockpit so the shit that pops in his head
Is an option of violence, someone heard the stewardess said
That your parachute is a latex condom hooked to a thread.
I’ve seen niggas transform like villain Decepticons,
Mollies’ll prolly turn these niggas to fuckin’ Lindsay Lohan.
A bunch of rich ass white girls lookin’ for parties,
Playin with Barbies, wreck the Porsche before you give ‘em the car key.
Bummy nigga famous, straight from the bottom,
Broke niggas hate it, still never robbed ‘em.
Guns in the basement, out they have a problem,
Kush be my fragrance, we love marijuana.
Her dreams hold Versace,
She fall for Armani…
Only deal with rich niggas,
Fuck you and Mitt Romney.
Feds still lurking,
They see I’m still putting work in.
Cause somewhere in America…
Miley Cyrus is still twerkin’.
It’s drones over Brooklyn, you blink, you could get tooken,
And now you’re understanding the definition of ‘Crooklyn.’
Pigs on parade, but bacon fryin’ and cookin’,
Cause kids’ tired of dyin’ and walkin’ round like they shooken.
How you picture tomorrow with the wrong frame of mind?
How you picture love, if you were blind?
In this life ain’t no happy endings;
Only pure beginnings followed by years of sinning and fake repentance.
‘What you doing in the club on a Thursday?’
She say she only here for her girl birthday…
They ordered champagne but still look thirsty,
Rock Forever 21 but just turned 30.
It was magic, I felt the bond between us.
She was a jelly to my peanuts, Mars to Venus,
The Earth to my sun, moon and stars,
We added up mathematically…
It’s like I had a bad habit, B!
Might go fuck a rapper’s life up like Mo’nique did to Precious.
I’m stuck in a time capsule when rappers’ actually factual;
Meaning: shit you spit might cause killers to come and clap at you.