(Verse 1: Kill Bill)
Life is hard up in deep space nine
Cultivating landscapes over deep basslines
Life is free-base fine. It's hot to the touch and such
Stayed skipping class, and it was not for the double-dutch
Blast-Thru, Razr phone, stocks in the trunk and stuff
I wrote a few love songs I dropped and then crumpled up
Call me "Mister-Can-I-Get-A-Third-Chance?"
Catch me sipping ink and watching all my fucking words dance
Introverted with imagination. Well that's great
But I'm a scumbag from time to time. I rhyme to test fate
Karma loops out; flies swarm and dudes doubt
But that's a fact of life, so man why you acting tight? Damn
Inner monologue broadcast across web-space
Flaws drawn out and passed quicker than some NEXT dates
I'm fucked in the head like it's Fishburne's sex tapes
Dudes fail to grasp like their arms are T-Rex shaped
In the mothership talking about love and shit
Injecting life with false hope, it trickles out the punctured skin
A 90's baby with a tendency to take trips
Bass dip inside my mind, I'm on my eighth hit
Pablo Fuckaround, free my mind
I'm so boxed. Broke off some weed and rhyme
My feet recline when I've fucking seized my time
And that's never ever, kid. I won't ever let it slip
More fire! Anything beyond your desire
Higher than Whitney Houston's suppliers' buyers
I'm good, though
My people stand behind me like I'm center-of-field, snapping ball
Mobbing with the crew, you don't even have to ask at all
(Chorus sample: The Game)
I had dreams of fucking an R&B bitch
Dreams of fucking
Dreams of fucking
I had dreams of fucking an R&B bitch