so put a [bass / / snare / bass/ bass / snare] kind of beat box to this one in your heads.

i. am.
a fresh money maker with my prospects on the incline.
a second level dealer who's been dealing from a land line.
the first rate killer of the rap game, in prime-time.
i will be there standing as hip hop falls down to the ground, mang.

check your engine levels as we pull into the verse and
don't forget to reset all the verses you've rehearsed and
from the 50 milliliters. i put mine down first, mang.
so what's with the discussion over who must feel the worst.

i'm ten strip tripping, like we're going to hong kong.
my white paper stretches further, almost twice as long.

and anyways, i'm in the grade of some better men.
heard what tey're saying, and i'm trying to get some dividends.
my rap flow is so slow, can't freestyle.
but catch me at my desktop, and you know i put the beat down.




more on this later.

and the Sun's Hiding in the Shade

So i broke her heart like that, right there in the driveway. One hundred bad reasons all rehearsed through summer season. And it's not alright for me to walk like this. Hunching over like the bad man carrying weight through the bad lands.

Honey, you were merely a transition. From lonely, to better. And from this point on, I'm honestly honest. Lacking of all inspiration.

And the last thing she said to me tonight was "i don't wanna just end up another song in another notebook you've been recording at another studio on another sober day between the haze of your drunken ways."

so maybe i'm a problem starter. sniffing glue and problem drinking. but these legs of mine can't kick no more, so he's sinking into his reclining chair. and i'm watching him throw away his old ways. relaxing into purity. and reclining. now channel flipping. now beer drinking. and now glue sniffing.

and god damn her voice is sad, but my face is smiling. so on and on, i'll be honestly honest.