I know I'm an emotionally disturbed
Person
People think I'm talkin' to myself
When I'm
Rehearsin' on the rhyme. A mass
Productionist
A mass production matador pan it
More to
The left there you go. Minimize the
Synthe sizer wiser when I wind up for
The pitch but I don't pitch a bitch
'cause
Sales get derailed and towed an
Abundance
Of cash. Damn I let it go. He was my man.
I tried to trust him, but I busted him
Twice
In my trash can and I'm askin'. I don't
Need
Psychology to see, the dichotomy in
Me.
Knew something was fishy, but I'm
Better than
Wishy washy or topsy turvy. It kinda
Irked
Me that I caught him sleepin'
'cause I try
To be wide awake, but ye slows it
Down
So I can't dilate and show that I'm
Bigger
Than that. But I also have to consider
The fact that opposed to him not
Being
The right peeper, I'm a light sleeper

So what does it mean when I reach
Maturity
And still see that I'm not the mayor of
My
Mayonnaise, the master of my milieu.
At least I have a swing and a few
Things
On my mind, it's never a good nighty
Night
Just a rise 'n' shine. Why's the rhyme
So important. Why do I have to be so
Potent and blow the mic a flow
Without
Chokin' - I don't. I'm arrogant and
Outspoken
Mouth no token I'm just a roust about.
I have a house and clout but I don't
Come tight
But it's routine since few fiend for true
Hip-Hop. It's a trip when I drop my style
And forget it and forget where I got it


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