Produced by:
Maxx 39, The Sun King and Jimmy Carter

Clinical depression at the pinnacle of obsession
Dressing for perfection before this cynical profession
Excellent. Messing with my dreams before I sleep
If I die before I wake, pray The Lord to wait a week
As the tear drops splash on my cheek, I feel weak
Where's the razor blade?
The haters stay and crave the days and save the chance, to cee me fall hit the wall
Moms will def cry if she ever got that call

Artist material, hardest cerebral man on the planet
Candidate for killing crooks over beats, I can't stand it
Smell the flowers on me, nine songs in a day shit, we make hits
All for rolling blunts without the cake mix
I play triz around the surface, it's hard for us
No need for putting up a guard to bust, in God we trust
I played ball, but kinda, put it on the side
Music is my pride, lyrics dipped in cyanid
In other words, I need a Bonnie, I am the Clyde
Drexler, making a drive, the rocks going inside your veins
Dope names, dope clothes we show
No swag on the tags cuz you mad we flow
Like rivers in Montreal, underground circuit breakers
I feel like I'm rapping with a bunch of circus fakers
I could alert to break your arm in 39 different places leave your tongue tasteless fuck being young rich and famous
A flare gun on rap, I'm actually running for the white stripe
A nice price give you a uh uh for a nice life
Tactics, half cracker half Spick
Maxx rips the song like a bong but I really don't rap sick
I like females who are thick with a nice smile
I rhyme detailed plus I'm sick of that lifestyle
And I'm
Philosophical, ill as possible
Spit fire kill your Popsicle a mill is optional cuz I spilled through obstacles