| Locked in my grave, I ain't slept in days
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| Worms in my blunt, I got mud up in my veins
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| Cemetery legend, poppin' like Excedrin
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| I'm on it smoking heavy, at this rate I'll be high forever
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| You speakin' like a reverend, then acting like a felon
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| These conscious rap pussies ain't in no place help us
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| No position to tell me, how the worship be
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| Bitch get you some money, get the fuck up off the street
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| Bringing it all the way back, bitch
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| Sippin' it off my flask, bitch
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| Creepin' up with that blade
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| Better bust quick when you see that SESH shit
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| Wreck shit what I'mma do do, motherfuck your Bentley coupe
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| Time after time, Cyndi Lauper back in '82
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| Comin' down clean in a new machine
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| Drugs on deck and the money on me
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| Styrofoam cup and I don't sip lean
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| I just need a place to go but I want my weed
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| Leave me alone, I just need to fucking breathe
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| I'm just sick of all these trash every day I fucking see
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| So I lock the fucking door and keep myself up in the dark
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| I can see you, I can hear you, I don't even want to start
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| I don't care about your music, I don't care about your lord
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| Throw my body in the trash when my time's cut short
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| And that's for real, real
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| Don't give a fuck about how you feel, feel
|
| And that's for real, real
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| And that's for real, real
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| Okay, you swerve in the Lexus, I pull up with your next bitch
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| O2' Wayne, cash money on the necklace
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| Always on the guestlist, oh and not to mention
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| Pick my worst song, bet it's harder than your best shit
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| I don't need a Tec clip to depress the tension
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| My lungs at recess, my heart is in detention
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| Start in the sense in the sense that I'm making
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| It's breaking and shaking you down in the pavement
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| Old and you're basic, I'm young and amazing
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| Chain never hanging, I'm gripping on a razor
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| Feel it with anger, zone turns danger
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| Friends turn strangers and words get fame
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| And that's for real, real
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| Don't give a fuck about how you feel, feel
|
| And that's for real, real
|
| And that's for real, real |