Whateva

Verse 1:
I’m broke, picture on the liquor store wall says “No Hope”
Wanna pick up my car? Let’s 9am
Everybody sittin’ at work while I stay in
Yeah, I got bars and talent
CDs, degrees, smart from the average
Yes from afar might seem I got it all
But it’s pretty hard to keep your gift balance
Challenge number one, have fun
Ain’t no excess funds but the extras
Done wait till the first for an eighth
Of the purp and I’m prob’ly hoppin’ there for the next bus
But that’s us, soon as we get it
Out it go again ‘cause we never know our limit
Spend, spend, spend on that blue collar medicine
Yeah so I’m lit but I swear I’m bein’ genuine

Refrain:
So, where the next meal comin’ from yo?
Turnin’ my verse into income no
Maybe next time, maybe next rhyme
Till then I’m, missin’ the bus

So, where the next meal comin’ from yo?
Turnin’ my verse into income no
Maybe next time, maybe next rhyme
Till then I’m, missin’ the bus

Verse 2:
Who wanna spot me some cash?
Or an advance man I’m tryna be a rapper
Motherf*ckers be assumin’ at once
I got money in my blood, these aluminum fronts
These chains from a chainlink fence
This medallion, goin’ back again and pay this rent
The way we spend, to get put on is wrong
Independent to the day a label makes some sense
But till then, Top Ramen again
Four channel surfing, keep it warm by the vent
In the event I make it past go and collect
I’ma buy Boardwalk, charge motherf*ckers rent
You know my luck though, no it ain’t an option
I’ma be on top of the charts in my Datsun
Couple hundred racks of tickets on the dash
I’ma stay rappin’ but I’m askin’ for a chance

Refrain:
So, where the next meal comin’ from yo?
Turnin’ my verse into income no
Maybe next time, maybe next rhyme
Till then I’m, missin’ the bus

So, where the next meal comin’ from yo?
Turnin’ my verse into income no
Maybe next time, maybe next rhyme
Till then I’m, missin’ the bus

F*ck, I missed the mothaf*ckin’ bus again! If I’m late one more time, I’m not getting paid and you know I gotta buy that weed and pay my rent. I’m just sayin’ like life is f*ckin’ hard for independent artists. Where’s my advance at? You owe me money, you owe me money, you owe me money. Wait no ah nah my bad my bad. I owe you money. Yeah I think I owe you money too. F*ck, well you know what? I mean I could write you a song, I could write you a poem, I could sing you a verse. I could do mothaf*ckin’ anything but pay my god-d*mn rent! F*ck!! Hahaha, thank god for music man, otherwise I’d just be a crazy a** person, writing songs on a bus. That dude is lookin’ at me right now like “check her transfer, she ain’t even pay.” You a hater. Yeah you, and you goin’ in my song, b*tch!