Monday, August 8, 2011

The Truman Show

Listen to track

[Verse 1]
I sit alone in my grandmothers home
Writin' poems in the zone, cause i don't want to know what's out there
Cause' out there niggas' watchin, plottin'
Jockin' hottin' is not an option
Makin' beats on my laptop possessed by J.Dilla
If i don't calm down, i can be a straight killer
Just tryna make scrilla' album wise, make thriller
I ate gorillas, i'm beastin what a great feelin'
But with the slightest budge, i can move
Feelin' like that talkin' bout' me on club comic view
If such is true then, what the fuck ima do?
Cops got they eye on me, fuck ima do?
Dialo ain't got nothin' on Diablo, dead ass
Fed up, fed last tryna get stead fast
Hard to accept that niggas got they eye on me
They not tryin' me but all they do is spy on me


[Chorus]
I must look good or somethin'
Never seen a punk rocker in the hood or somethin'
They bad at bein' real but they good for frontin'
So what's good, you want me to go wood or somethin?
And what y'all niggas lookin' at? huh? (x4)
Huh?! Huh!? Huh!?


[Verse 2]
Park benches, Charles gettin' hard splinters
In his head when he wake up, no converses
No soft splinters
Y'all niggas think shit is okay
Till' I flip and OJ and turn this to Nicole day
No way, tell them niggas go play
I need a fast break like a give and go play
Pickin' rolled j's stocked in malone days
Only piece of mind i see, is in Simone face
But groupies get reckless, in Simone's face
This is no game, I'm pissed at those dames
The cloud rains down cause the shit is so gray
I paid my fuckin' dues but i ain't gettin' no pay
My records run the streets, but i ain't gettin' no play
Asked God what's goin on, but the nigga won't say
Shit, he become mute at his old age
Lookin' at my wrist bouta get the old blade
But...


[Chorus]
I must look good or somethin'
Never seen a punk rocker in the hood or somethin'
They bad at bein' real but they good for frontin'
So what's good, you want me to go wood or somethin?
And what y'all niggas lookin' at? huh? (x4)
Huh?! Huh!? Huh!?



[Verse 3]
Another nigga need a favor, a bitch need the flavor
My church is refuges temple but im feelin even greater
Can't go back cause them niggas don't relate to
A rookie ball player bouta make it to the majors
I used to be the good boy that plays the organ
Now they lookin at me funny like im tracy morgan
Shit, another name bringin back some fuckin pain
I lost everything it really aint enough to gain
I walk a thin line all the time just to sprain
My ankles so i can walk on an angle
Far from an angel, heart full of danger
Father's a stranger, mom is a gamer
Tryna catch a break when i catch a contract
Ma thats whack, for that catch a contact
Can i live? I guess the fuck not
Stressed the fuck out
But blessed with such doubt
Whatever man...


[Chorus]
I must look good or somethin'
Never seen a punk rocker in the hood or somethin'
They bad at bein' real but they good for frontin'
So what's good, you want me to go wood or somethin?
And what y'all niggas lookin' at? huh? (x4)
Huh?! Huh!? Huh!?



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