(Verse 1) It’s so odd, I can’t get a job, I can’t get a call Maxed out credit cards, over draft on my debit card Damn, man, what to do? Mom keep saying that it’s up to you She’s the reason I was stuck in school Now I feel like a fuckin’ fool What I wanna do don’t need a degree What I wanna do comes easy to me But it’s so hard to get paid for this shit I love knowing that I’m never safe in this bitch On my toes, I’m chasing the hits And it makes my day when they say that I’m sick But don’t do me no favors, hater Fuel my fire ’til I make it major I know that my time gon’ come A&R’s say I gotta find that one Song, that’ll blow me up But I’ve heard that so much, I’ve gone numb You can’t spit a flow if I wrote you that shit So gimme my dough like you owe me that shit And why you keep tellin’ me to lose my producers These two dudes make the music I move to Look, how you gon’ say that we’re not on fire? How you gon’ say I’m not an iLL songwriter? They write hits, I write emotions You don’t like this, better get to rollin’ Stop tryn’ to Lupe me I’ll tell you right now that it’s too late b And please don’t bring up any other rapper I’ll tell you once more these dudes ain’t me, AZ
(Hook) After everything That I’ve done They don’t see I’m still alone
I’m out here tryin’ to make a livin’ Doin’ something different but it doesn’t even matter
A part of me Wants to let it go But can’t you see It’s all I know
I’m out here tryin’ to make a livin’ Doin’ something different but it doesn’t even matter
(Verse Two) Sometimes I don’t wanna kick raps Sometimes I wanna kick back With my feet up, lay back and chill In the way back of the maybach for real Wishing, I’m dreaming for a reason I’ve convinced myself that if I keep believin’ eventually I’ll be it But who got my back? I know I do I keep telling myself they gon’ find you Lifes a bitch, I’m Nas in 92 Street poet but I ain’t a Crip or Piru Don’t think that I’m soft dog The shit that I say from my heart dog I’m on one, but I’m off ya’ll And they say every rappers a lost cause, so Let me get straight to it I just make music It ain’t got no color or genres So, I guess you can call it Obama Still, when I’m rappin’ I happen to see Even my family ain’t happy for me I’m mad at my friends, the ones who said that they had my back ’til the end But they don’t pick up my calls Convenient homies, I don’t even need you phonies Ok then, get lost You’re bitchmade, I’m pissed off I give, you take ‘Til I ain’t got shit left to take So I think, that you fake And I ain’t got shit left to sayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
