I’m stressed out so much I’m like, “Why stress it?”
Am I selfish for asking myself
“Would you rather count money or count blessings?”
Now that’s a wild question
Fame turned my life upside down
I guess it was meant to be like pa**ing Beyonce a Tic-Tac
And that ain’t a diss, this way more to me than a diss track
Jay-Z is God to me
Nas is God to me!
Eminem is like B.I.G. and Pac to me
And if you disagree I hope you bleed hypocrisy!
And this will be the realest sh** I ever wrote
Shoutout to all the crazy b**hes I’ve been involved with
Thank y’all for making my wife a crazier b**h than y’all b**hes
Y’all might’ve lost me, but y’all win
And this will be the realest sh** I ever wrote
Now let’s talk about the BET Awards
When Kanye went to the podium for the win
And mentioned everyone in the same category as him but me and Em
He said they motivated him
And normally that would be ammo to hate on him
But that ain’t my M.O! My M.O. is to be mo’ motivatin’
This new-wave culture is so cultivatin’!
Where the f** do I fit in?
And this will be the realest sh** I ever wrote
I succumb so much to this game I feel sorrow
I answer more questions about the 40 and Game squabble
Than I answer questions that I ask myself
“Are you a good father?”, the answer’s, “Well
f** this! Royce got a game tomorrow”
I ain’t gotta spell out the offers
If being famous means speaking to people in offices
Over being there for your sons and daughters…
I’m off this…
I know the last couple of lines kinda fell out of the pocket
But I don’t give a f**!
Let me tell you this:
When was the last time you copped some sh**
Where it actually came out of your pocket?
Answer that! If I got to answer questions from you
You got to answer questions from me!
I’m f**ing my whole life up for you, answer this question:
“What the f** are you doing for me?”, answer that!
Still I love my fans, even though y’all looking at me like I’m just a drunk n***a
That’s just throwing up behind sh**, blowing up, but n***a I ain’t throwing up sh** but my hands
And this is just me growing up
Courtney Artesia, Kino and Vish, please support me I need ya
But in reality an artist is supposed to be supported by easels
But in the meanwhile, I’m just supported by evil
[Verse 2: Joe Budden]
I’m no longer f**in’ amused
I mean I addressed this sh** on “Cut You Loose”
How long am I supposed to stick around for this f**in’ abuse?
Every time I go to leave, I figure “f** is the use?”
I endure it for the true fans that covet that new
Or is that just another f**in’ excuse?
Do I do it for attention cause I crave it, I won’t mention it, I’ll save it
If you know me than you know a n***a treasure anonymity
n***a thought that as a man, you must be kiddin’ me
And I’m starting to feel like my fans are now condemning me
Listen, I don’t owe y’all sh**
Same Joe I am today is the same Joe y’all get
Y’all will interrupt a n***a while he at his place of worship
And think that came along with your 20 dollar purchase
You bought the music, not the n***a that made it
But let me touch up on that n***a that made it
If you’re judging me on actions then I’ll take that L every time
If you conclude “Joe Budden is a corny mah’f**er”
Cause all it mean if I’m a corny mah’f**er
Is the greatest rapper ever’s just a corny mah’f**er
My bad, I’m not as street as you
But all this time I was being me, not being you
I get behind that mic, let all my demons through
Without knowing sh** about the people that I’m speaking to
Add that to me not seeing a reason to
And that says a lot in a room full of silence, listen…
At 21 I had a drug problem
At 31 still d** is a problem
But the thing about that pill is it made everything real
And I felt I needed to see
Funny thing about it all, I ain’t like what I saw
Now the Lord’s voice is in my head like
“You’ll be DEAD soon for questioning me”
Another lesson for me
Far greater than whatever I profess it to be
Cause if left to me, I’d put our eyes in our brains
We’d over-think what we see and our whole lives would change
But f** it, that day had to come
Who ever knew that I would have a son?
I coulda guessed it, I was f**in’ like a rabbit
But I never saw him handle scoliosis like his dad did
Never knew me and Ronnie would talk again
f** a rhyme, I’m just happy that we talk again
Who knew that the second I acknowledged you
You would get terminally ill, be in the hospital
The thought of you leaving is what f**s with me
I’m scared to d**h of getting full custody
n***a, I look in the mirror disgustedly
So how am I supposed to feel the day that he looks up to me?
I always said you were the worst baby-mother
I had ex-girl confused with baby-mother
And there lies my problem with our Creator
All the times I wanted her black a** dead, you wouldn’t take her
Don’t do it now, I need her
Understand, it don’t get no realer
See how I go to bed with thoughts of a damn k**er
But rather show y’all my girl through these Instagram filters
Look at her, don’t look at me
Cause if y’all judging, y’all would throw the book at me
Speakin’ of shorty, nah, I’ll do that in private
It might be a little soon for me to let her know how I get
sh**, and now we right back at one
Real quick, let me get back to my son
When a n***a was like
He said “Dad, I’m weird but I don’t have a problem with that”
And I was like I laughed, and I was like
“Well, number 1, why do you think you’re weird
And number 2, why don’t you have a problem with that?”
And he looked me in my eyes and he was like
“Well, I say I’m weird, number 1, because I know I’m weird
And I don’t have a problem with it because that’s me
And whoever don’t like it, they don’t have to be around me
I’m comfortable with me and who I am”
And right there, that was cold
In my head I thought “That was bold”
Illest sh** about it all, said that at 10 years-old
So I could die right now
I could die right now and feel like he got the most important part of Joe
Or… better than that…
I could die right now and feel like he know all he need to know
Joey
Royce, what up
Last night we cried tears of joy
This morning they were still there
What’s handicap without the wheelchair
That’s what we are, but f** it…
We’ll be the sacrificial lamb for y’all n***as
Hate it or love it…
Leave all of that, b, f** it…
[Verse 3: Crooked I]
Yeah, man
I kinda feel where my n***a was coming from, you know
Both my n***as, you know
Baby-mom was on WorldStar and sh**
You know, talkin’ ’bout I don’t take care of my junior
Me and my n***a straight though
Yo, my little n***a rap
I just let it be, you know, cause people get their feelings hurt over other sh**
So I just let it go, you know, I ain’t have no rebuttal
But uh when you grew up f**ed up
Nobody’s perfect, you know, but I’m perfect for this
This rap sh**, man yeah
Eastside Long Beach: Atlantic avenue and Hill
Crooked was a youngster my ghetto attitude was real
Dumper in the waist in case I had to shoot to k**
Rocking dumb mics cause I had was stupid sk**
Eastsiders we cypher about a bus b**h
Some sippin toca vodka, others had the blunt pitched
A lot of them n***as died, sweatshirt blood drenched
Others went to jail, they hit a lick and left thumbprints
Long beach I salute ya grind
Even though you think you I sold out you not saluting mine
I dont come around much, Im on musics time
Lost and found I found when Im broke I lose my mind
So I hustle like Im on a hunger strike
Without a doubt when I cuff a mic
I leave a body count like the shottys out
Cause Im from a group called slaughter
Rap better than everybody house
Now they think Im in the game and stuntin
But Im like an orgasm man, I came from nothing
Some of you from the burbs but you claim you wasnt
So lame you struttin, with a cain you frontin
f** all that, if I was born rich I would rhyme about it
I was born poor in a ditch, Im rhyming tryna climb up out it
Tryna avoid a life of crime Im bout it
Some say Ill be fine without it
d**h around the corner, prison breathing down my neck
Chasing paper til a n***a wheezing out of breath
IRS wanna f** me, I ain’t even outta debt
Said they Young Buck me
, tryna squeeze me outta checks
Yeah, them fools tryna squeeze me outta checks
Dont talk to dominics unless you pay ya mommas rent
With marijuana sent outta town, them dollars spent
My own fam wanna grab the steel and harm me
But I got the nuts to k** an army
Word to k**a army, man all them k**ers adore me
BET red carpet, the steel was on me
To put a slug in my flesh and blood wouldnt feel good
Serena crip walking at the Olympics
Im still hood
Still me, til my candle is blown
So many secrets I only told to a gla** of patron
Half of my fathers family died of cancer alone
He called me sick, I didnt answer the phone
How does it feel to know that your son doesnt care
Cause you wasnt there, life wasnt fair
I look at steps in the wrong direction, another stare
I swear, just the other muthaf**ing night dawg
Like n***as, n***as rolled in front of my studio on my kids life
Nahmean, I ran through the f**ing studio to my office grabbed that 3.57 thang man
Came out waving, Im bout to bust, the police pa** by
My little brothers told me I needed to chill
Nahmean, this is what I do man, this is the life I live for real dawg
This ain’t no muthaf**in rap music
Just the other night I coulda k**ed a n***a man
Nahmean, I wouldnt be here rapping about this sh**
Think about it man
[Verse 4: Joell Ortiz]
My grandmoms left me
, father dont exist
Baby moms stress me,
my momma got a cyst
My older son love football and the little n***a hands is mean
But he chronic asthmatic so he fully suited on the sideline wishing he could be in there but still
Cheering for his team
My youngest son got nerve issues, sometimes he cry to me
Im looking at him like its not you fault
You was conceived when daddy was such a slave to his everyday anxiety
I worked at UPS for a week and my boss ain’t have to fire me
I wasnt fit to lift boxes I quit
Dont put me in that box when I spit
My life wasnt too muthaf**ing fly for me
Wasnt too muthaf**ing fly for me
From the lobby huffing and puffing running from robbery
To Crooked I, Royce Da 59, Joe Budden,
homie from the Goodie Mob and me carving artistry
Celebrating escaping poverty
Ashy knees and no socks
Chinese outta hocks but that was on the first, other than that
Liver works and government sent me my yellow cheese in a box
Yall ain’t have that yellow cheese in a box
Last night I cried tears of joy
But the other night I cried tears my boy
No longer here I cant hear his voice
I guess upstairs they playing dealers choice
Popped a pill with Joe Im sippin clear with Royce
Crook light a cigar n***a
My little homie just hit the pen
Went in a young adult and coming out a senior citizen
And them crackers just denied me
f** dawg I cant even sneak a visit in
I ain’t hustlin no more if yall listening
Yall n***as only get the music man
Yall don’t know what be going on with a n***a day to day
I mean sh** I ain’t complaining or nothing
Like a n***a stand on his own two and hold it down
But its realer than you think n***a
You think I give a f** about a rap list
I just left my condo, hopped up in my car Im on my way to f** an actress
I dont need yall to remind me bout my pen and pad gift
ad-libs subtract your wack spit
Multiply my visits to Chase divide mad chips among 3 other n***as
Nah n***a this ain’t no rap clique
This is a muthaf**ing takeover
I want another Range Rover
I got such a hangover celebrating the fact my mother became sober
My uncle fading from that needle though
Found out he fully blown a couple weeks ago
My aunt tested negative but its the same result
Cuz she gon die on the same day he stop breathing yo
To know me ain’t to love me
Nah, to know me is to know me
Cause you ain’t got to like me but respect that I ain’t phony
Not a nominee for Tonys or Oscars for my uh balony
What you see is what you get
Hope you getting what you see cause what you seeing is a threat
Come at me with indirects, I ain’t gon write a song about you
Imma knee you in your neck
And then write a song about how I just beat you half to d**h
Dont play with my little n***as
Im just a grown a** man tryna feed my family through the talent God gave me
Honestly I dont care if you hate me
But dont f** with my money
Anything else I say will be dry snitching on myself, how dumb would that be
House gang
YAOWA!