I’ve
decided to quit rapping
I’ve
decided to quit rapping. Slam down your
breaks, ease up on my clutch. Aesop told me
I didn’t want to be overlooked and I didn’t want to be looked over too much. Fuck. Y’all’ve
got me pegged. Call this club to order and
I’ll be the first one to give my pledge. For
every mile you walk in self-loathing, my dad’ll give it twenty bucks. It’ll be thirty if you walk without that
confidence crutch. Like most of use,
I’ve felt rushed, the way our eyes wander to watches and clocks and such. I’ve got my secrets, and if I catch a stare
for long enough, I blush. Like if you run a
mile with one lung, you can expect to get flushed. I’ve
had enough of people fading my mic, consider me hushed.
And if you like that sound, give me your number and I’ll worry too much
to keep in touch. You’re tired of
hearing me bitching, you’re not going to listen and in the end I guess that’s a
plus. We couldn’t have worked out
anyway; I sit around alone and for me, that’s a rush.
Like a centaur, I’m screwing myself in the butt, because when you
don’t like this, I’ll be crushed. I’m
all about the lifestyle of the rich and plush, but as honesty as my policy, my stage
remains empty and it sucks.
