Monday, June 22, 2009
You ever, ever, try to tell me you don't like this jam
and first I'll be like, Say swear to God,
and then I'll be like, You's a LIAR,
and then I'll tell the bouncer to throw you out the club like you're Jazz and he's Uncle Phil.
I don't need your kind in my life, you people who don't care for some sulky/comedic rappin coupled with the freshest beat south of the 10 freeway and a KRS snippet. We can't be friends or bedroom partners so keep it movin, buddy.
I'm far from hard, emotionally scarred
On Pico Boulevard I was regarded as a retard
I make myself sick, get on my own nerves
Immature, insecure, grown-up nerd
On a label that's unstable
Choppin' bliggy on a table.