All I see is these cocky chicks walking around like pompous pricks That hope to sell out tickets, but are sell out tickets, like box office flicks...

I think that there's distinctive hope, not to be found...
And only the self-proclaimed kings here are rocking the crown...
But if you think about Big Poppa and Pac with their sound?
And see the industry's pop, you would evaluate how popular that topic's now..
I mean, people are just talkative now... they thought they're profound
Their concepts are contexts around their overconfidence, which is a big
consequence since if you actually look through drops
It's the same shit. The mainstream's main theme's
been used plenty...
So now I'm here sitting with their written like, "Really?"
"That's what you got from this?" All I see is the opposite...
All I see is these cocky chicks walking around like pompous pricks
That hope to sell out tickets, but are sell out tickets, like box office flicks...
It isn't even exactly about keeping the people that actually
rip it's perception of you seemingly happy, it's about...
Coming with the original shit, and spitting out... clever quips...
But ever since we've had to make a bravado that motto's become semblance....
Yeah, so what can be done?
Seems like nothing, because
this hustle's become the main staple to work, and it's profit, right?
In the 90's, the transition to East Coast thought was like..
The Holy Grail, now it's about the South dropping nice...

Comments

So give me this ratchet, bitch. A prick, more than a Cactus is. I crack your ribs on the McDonald's Arches, so I can watch it split at several different axises.

LOL @ the dust around from the mushroom cloud crushing, wow! Fucking clown! Yeah, how does it feel to be under ground? (Huh?) Literally. You can't get rid of me. Every bit of D- N-A is like a relay of keys placed, for you to Freebase... on A destructive nature of touching paper. A victim of habit. Up in your head, cause he lives in the attic like Roger from American Dad, scribbling at is.. notebook.. with Rachel McAdams face on the cover... he's physically had it. Needs Zoloft to doze off. So his father keeps... given em' tablets.. He sits in the blackness, drawing pictures of catfish. Why? Cause he's miserable, and considerably tragic. If you look at him, his innards are like a miniature of sinister lashes. So give me this ratchet, bitch. A prick, more than a Cactus is. I crack your ribs on the McDonald's Arches, so I can watch it split at several different axises. I don't know what I'd do without this rapping shit, I'd probably h...

I've done it. You can either fathom it, or suffer Protruding the forum of doubt, causing the manuscript to buffer..

Futuristic, this is the past world... I'm so sick, I make tracks 'Earl, like 'Sweatshirt", no disrespect to that cat... TWIRL concepts around like charm bracelets to disarm statements.. Bored as fuck... But I'm sure I've said that already.. I levy my mind, it tends to get heavy.... inside's the Serengeti.. Lion's are here, in many. You're trying, but barely ready. The Zion, the sign of lyrics, a tier that's steady over the sick, the hospital Mount Sinai can constrict inside of their medic folders, the older I get. Get the cold shoulder, n' sniffle.. Break your bones, cause it's brittle... Patrolling the middle, the epicentre of killing most of you clones with a riddle. While I'm dozing, sleeping. The chosen meet the opposing deep end.. My specialty's exposing weakness, most humans have learned to know as secrets.. Yeah, strictly a sequence of sticking a piece of metal prod. to your temporal lobe, unt...

Give you parrots the cold... shoulder, wanna copy my talent? The trapeze artist so skillfully concocting the balance... I mean it's awkward, at how the kids come at me when they thought they can challenge... A beast who slaughters so regularly, a crew mops up his palace...

Time to yell, rhymes expel the kind of heat... That Satan couldn't handle in the furnace room, while he tried to sleep... I mean, venomous rage when this pen's engaged... penetration... his head's aching from all the fucked up medication... They'd never face em... why the fuck would they? Battle in hell... a pressure gauge of talent that's shattering wells... From a different planet, n' I must say that Saturn's swell.. I've had it, the smell ...of defeat in the cavern dwells.. I got an ego that needs to be popped, repeatedly... rock... your drive, I'm never parked, so why the fuck would I be in a lot? His stream of talent? well, it seems like a-lot... A genius, thought to be the next incarnation of Einstein with every line rhymed... It's my time, don't get clocked out... Fucking naked... baring my soul, it's apparent, I swallow arrogance whole... Give you parrots the cold... shoulder, wanna copy my talent? The trapeze ...

NiceWithThePen

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