Uh
Chyeah
Uh, uh
Dedicated to, this dedicated to, fuck it

Uh, I got a pocket full of posies
Some devil with a pitchfork keep talking like he know me
I'm psychopathic, low key, my hyperactive dome piece
Get no sleep, ill as fuck, the hospitals seem so weak
I stood before an angel as he told me bout the glory
Put me in a room of people, how the fuck could I be lonely?
I only get money, these labels tryna clone me
Uh, my thoughts get heavy, hit the ground and crack the concrete
So, I try to keep 'em in my head
It's sad to see when everything that you believe is dead
Word to Heavy D, and rest in peace to all that come and pass
Life is good sometimes, but it just doesn't last
A bunch of stress, you see, this mic is like my punching bag
Rock 'n' roll, drugs and cash, you softer than a bubble bath
Sucka ass mothafucka, mothafucka's sediment
Doper than the shit that killed Chris Tucker in Dead Presidents
Desert rhymes, homie, riding beats, I'm on a camel
I'm way too hot to handle, life a beach, I brought my sandals
You want a war? I got a lot of ammo
You ain't a soldier 'cause you rocking camo
Young Rambo, hundred million fans though
And I do it big, you a iPod Nano
Fire on wax, look like I rock candles
Yeah, you got a show, but you ain't on my channel

That's HBO, bitch, you gotta pay for that, haha, your channel's free
Haha (I'm gonna fucking kill you)
Uh, IMAX some shit motherfucker, yeah, suck my dick

Hey, ayo, I'm 'bout to start gambling with Ambien, I'm dutch smoking
That's a strike, but fuck bowling, I could tear a pin of Maryland
See, I'm American, apparently it's damaging
To be in front of cameras in your underwear with Marilyn
Monroe, looking dumb hoes, who want to much dough
And come close to have you straight tripping when you jump rope
Don't rock the love boat, this business fucking cut throat
And it's gonna crack if you just paint the wall with one coat
Rooms filled with blunt smoke, peep me through the fog
These rappers who be hating probably need to get a job
See, me I'm with my squad, getting money, living comfortable
I know a couple hoes who model, but they ugly, though
Fuck a toast, y'all is fucking broke, cut ya throat
Judging me is nothing dope, boy, you lying under oath
God made the world, why did man make the scriptures?
And if he created Lennon, why'd he go and make a Hitler?
I could take a photo, but I'd rather paint a picture
Of the one Laurence Fishburne, we'll shoot up all you hipsters
I'm from Pittsburgh, that's black and gold
If my skin gets filled up, I'ma tat my soul
Running out of paper, writing on my hand
Hundred thousand haters writing 'bout my jams
Want a number one independent album? I'm your man
I'ma hit Preme and leave you all right where you stand

Copyright: SC PUBLISHING DBA SECRETLY CANADIAN PUB., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Writer(s): Eric Dan, Jeremy Kulousek, Malcolm James McCormick, Richard Pegue, Zachary Raymond Vaughan