I just want to welcome you, to the confession I push this sentence through.
I devise numerous plans, but the execution is what I seldom do.
Please don’t listen to the depression I am telling you.
I’m locked behind bars like the system they possess felons through.
Wake up, drink protein for a starter.
not me, the codeine is the author,
sometimes I feel hopelessly faltered.
I wonder if in terms of art, poetry is the martyr.
I tried marrying a dead woman, but even she had cold feet at the alter.
There’s no solution to restitution.
I send text messages to desperate students,
drunk girls get impressed by this expert music.
But I’m no expert.
And nah this ain’t the story of my life, so don’t accept this an excerpt.
The methods that I exert.
Makes you inspired but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t get worse.
It does, as a matter of fact, it always does.
I wonder sometimes why I throw away love,
See, I’m damaged now. On a sand-bagging campus now.
So don’t fucking ask for kraun, I’m not a celebrity, don’t you see there are no fucking cameras around.
And no, obviously, my parents haven’t been proud.
Fuck love, I keep looking my dream girls, like my subconscious already conquered them, fuck are they? hand-me-downs.
You were someones nightmare, and they disregarded you.
Didn’t acknowledge truth, until I saw my unconscious self blurting out all improper loops in a conscience booth.
Balling in a university, but it was more like college hoops.
Getting advice from my friends about my poor health, but they won’t rock a doctor’s suit.
Because half the story is a quarter of arrogance added to another half attached to glory.
Now if you subtract the laboratory,
And multiply the pompous assholes laughing at my mask to scorn me,
Then you have just answered the equation to the rapper born in me.
This ain’t fucking hollywood, so no I won’t act accordingly.
To the path you stored for me,
I rather go through these ups and downs, Nasdaq, forcefully.
Here’s a post, dedicated to my cynicism, let it be damned.
A weaponless man, standing in front of the mirror with henessy in hand.
My enemies have a tendency to question these empty commands.
So they try to break shit downnnn like a chemistry exam.
Last night, all I could think about was what death includes.
And if I’m going to fail, then I rather let it be soon.
The only animal at the meeting, therefore I am still the elephant in the room.
I keep beating myself up, these scars are self-inflicted wounds.
But if you wanted to know how I was doing, I guess I’d say I’m getting a move-
on, to the turning point.
never mind, weed produced this epiphany, I call it my turning joint.
I continue to peddle on, question the chance of success through every song.
I’m a writer, I went from feeling left out to making the attempt to write every wrong.
Every mishap, every regret, every memory.
I won’t accept this as my legacy,
one of a trembling human being afraid of becoming what he was meant to be.
Shit, sometimes, I feel like being a rapper wasn’t meant for me.
Too much fucking stress for me, boy meets world, no tapanga.
Then I take a leopard leap, only to find myself considered endangered.
I devised a plan, then divided it in advanced, no remainder.
All I can say is at least when you see me on TV you won’t act like we are strangers.
