Night time, is the biggest onomatopoeia you can say.
Nights in the Palazzo.
View of the grove.
Taking Elle women on a tour, through my beautiful home…
It wasn’t long ago, that every song I wrote, was all in hope, that all the broke thoughts would go, OFF and float, like hallway smoke, when coffins row.
In the hood, it’s a coffin for colds.
No cure, but we livin’ to die.
Like dyin' is another form of livin’ a lie.
So we livin’ to live.
While we wishin’ to fly.
Envision the sky, kiss it goodbye, and listen to I.
We goin’ higher than the heights of average.
Afraid of heights? Take the rites of passage.
You never seen a star before tonight’s flight?
Midday is like a plugged-in Nite Brite.
… And all the other planets lookin’ type hype.
Like, “Charles, I know you ain’t forget my Sprite, right?”
We all celebrities now, because we gettin’ money!
Everybody in town, because we gettin’ money!
I think I’m wearin’ a crown, because we getting’ money NOW…
But every time I look DOWN...
... I emerge from the ground with a FROWN.
WHAT AM I GONNA DO NOW...
WHAT AM I GONNA DO NOW...
... All the money that I get NOW.
First-class flights to conferences WHERE, my confidence IS, what got me this, HERE.
Moment to share witcha’.
Know that I’m here witcha’.
Even when I’m not, and I gotta say “There.” witcha’.
Even when I am, and I’m able to hear witcha’.
It’s official. I can be clear witcha.
Fear, is a queer, if you stick out your rear.
Dyin’ one moment, just to live out the year.
ALL the inspiration I give out to my peers…
I wanna “duff” some n1ggas;
Spit out my beer.
But that would imply that I’m not sober…
… And when it come’ to duffin’ n1ggas, I’m Homer.
You’re more Barney.
Whatchu’ want, punk?
You can’t harm me.
You lookin’ punch drunk.
Save the hate for the President, ‘cause I’ll “Family Guy” your whole run.
Straight make you IRRELAVENT.
I’m gettin’ head from a porn star; Sleepin’ with a label mate.
Dating the craziest little lady from the Angel state.
Good friends with Mr. “808s and Heartbreak”;
I’m compression in a hard day, my profession ain’t all day…
It’s every day.
N1ggas imitating me, like it’s not hard.
Can’t stop, Charles. I’m Bubba Ray Dudley.
Show, put these n1ggas on a table that’s a breakaway…
… Like sweatpants.
I need a track, so I can Slim Jim rap on.
That means snap on. Elbow drop.
I’m more focused than ever, I tell hoes “STOP.”
I don’t f*ck just to bust a nut, ‘cause, when the lustin’ rushes up,
What are you stuck with?
A puddle of “muck“, a b*tch that got stuck to you, and vice-versa.
It’s not luck, it SUCKS.
… Charles Hamilton.
[Talking During Chorus]
The only way to move when you’re on top of the world…
… is at top speed.
?Catch up to ‘em!?
*beat plays for remaining duration*