| Ain’t never been much of the church type
|
| But I believe in the last days
|
| I walk through Hell almost every night
|
| But I believe it’s a pathway
|
| Say boy, what you doin' with your life
|
| With those tattoos on your face?
|
| Say boy, you know that you’ll pay the price
|
| Well, I guess I’ll see when I head that way
|
| To the father son and holy spirit
|
| I hold you nearest
|
| My best friend, best friend
|
| Let the trumpets blow with your appearance
|
| I can almost hear it
|
| My best friend, best friend
|
| When you wish me Hell upon my soul and spirit
|
| Behold these lyrics
|
| I got a best friend, best friend
|
| Yeah, I got a best friend, best friend, yeah
|
| I don’t know much about Holy Bibles
|
| But I grew up in the Bible Belt
|
| I put my love for a woman on idle
|
| Because I got beat with my mama’s belt
|
| But I learned from my mistakes
|
| Try hard to respect people for what they believing in
|
| But if you spit on my fucking grave
|
| And wish me Hell then I wish you well
|
| I’mma send you straight up to my best friend
|
| God, please could you arm me with the armor
|
| To calm me when there’s drama like Gandhi
|
| Could have gone the other way many times
|
| Could have turned Dalai with the lama
|
| But I squashed my beefs and things seem to be looking decent recently,
|
| But don’t jinx it
|
| It’s like Clint Eastwood looking for peace
|
| Though maybe not finna enta' the priesthood,
|
| But at least should make an attempt to show some remorse
|
| And to be some sorta repenter
|
| For the people I’ve been a menace ta'
|
| Not a preacher, but a shit starter and finisher
|
| Enta' the mind of a thick skinned, but a short temper
|
| This patience of mine is thinner
|
| Than twine is when I get attacked
|
| So I might say something back that might offend you
|
| So if you don’t like when I rap
|
| Or what I have to say on the mic then you
|
| Might wanna act just like quarterbacks
|
| And take a fuckin' hike when I snap cause I’m a sinner
|
| (I got a best friend, best friend)
|
| Plus balls and intestines
|
| And they never been yes men
|
| They gon' tell me when I’m fuckin' up
|
| The minute I’m ever giving it less than
|
| I’m about to vomit and I can feel it coming
|
| Cause failure’s something I can barely stomach
|
| And I only listen to my guts
|
| So unless you’re my fuckin' belly button
|
| Don’t tell me nothin'
|
| You ain’t my (best friend, best friend)
|
| Who you think I’m talking 'bout?
|
| Lifts me up when I’m down and out
|
| Still look to him without a doubt
|
| Still got a (best friend, best friend)
|
| Shout it out like there’s never been a louder mouth
|
| Should have never been allowed a mouth
|
| Now that I got a higher power
|
| Now when I black out power outage
|
| They powerless, but they crowd around
|
| They tend to flock like shepherds the black sheep
|
| But I’ll be the worst thing that these motherfuckers ever herd
|
| When I’m counted out
|
| You be D.O.A., they’ll announce
|
| But pronounce you dead when they sound it out
|
| So prepare for a rival with your arch enemy
|
| Surrounds you now
|
| He’s all around you
|
| Not even the doctor’s at the hospital
|
| Are gonna shigy-shock you back to life
|
| It’s in piggy possible to revive you
|
| That’s word to the digy doc
|
| Stigy stopping is not an option
|
| Something I’m not gonna do
|
| I’m the Iggy Pop of hip-hop when I walk in the booth
|
| Dawg, I’m the truth like Biggie rockin' with Tupac in the suit
|
| Talking to Proof dropping a deuce
|
| Fill up a syllable clip like a re-fillable script, cock it and shoot
|
| And who do you think’s my Glock that I use
|
| That I pull from to get my strength up against these haters
|
| And he’ll be waiting at the gate
|
| When you get sprayed up, sending you hoes straight up
|
| To deal with my (best friend, best friend) |