Whiteboard (Makin' Eggs)
...Put it...put it in the air...
People always gotta talk
I can hear 'em in the hall
I can hear 'em change the volume of the TV through the wall
You can chalk it up to ignorance
Jot it on the whiteboard
If I get any higher I'll require a longer mic cord
It's layers to this music
And when I peel 'em back
Then everybody get a full clip
I put 'em in a rap to give the track a Silver Bullet
There's nothing "Light" about me
My record speaks for itself when these motherfuckers doubt me
Call the reverend for the exorcism
Get these demons out me
Send 'em screamin back to hell
And when I hear the beep they talk, I need a sleeping bag, for real
I am so tired of the bullshit
I can't make my appointment, tell the doctor that I'm still sick
And then re-up my prescription
But they don't make a medicine to clear up my condition
I'ma read up on my history and give up my religion
"When you believe in things you don't understand, then you suffer"
-- Stevie Wonder, "Superstition"
After midnight, in my boxer shorts, I wander to the kitchen
Cause I need a glass of water
Does anybody love Grip?
Well, you'd need to ask my daughter
You'd have to ask my son if I could be a better father
Some people never bother
Just another vicious cycle that I don't want any part a'...
It don't come any harder
So don't come any farther
I guess that's what I'm sayin'
They call it devil music, so I guess that's what I'm playin'
People wonder what my color is like "Steppin' to the A.M."
I know that you're not old enough to get that line
I'll prob'ly use a different rhyme
But, honestly, I couldn't really care
My middle finger, I'ma put it in the air like it's a picket sign
Ain't you know I got it?
"And what is 'it', exactly?"
What is this, a joke? I am offended that you asked me
All my levels on a billion times a billion so get back, we
'Bout to kill it, son, it's filthy like the back seat of a taxi
I'm sayin', the flow is is nasty
I'm insane, the flow is Kathy...Bates in Misery:
I'm breakin' legs
This your brain on drugs
And Grip is in the kitchen makin' eggs
People always gotta talk
I can hear 'em in the hall
I can hear 'em change the volume of the TV through the wall
You can chalk it up to ignorance
Jot it on the whiteboard
If I get any higher I'll require a longer mic cord
People always gotta talk
I can hear 'em in the hall
I can hear 'em change the volume of the TV through the wall
You can chalk it up to ignorance
Jot it on the whiteboard
If I get any higher I'll require a longer mic cord
It's layers to this music
And when I peel 'em back
Then everybody get a full clip
I put 'em in a rap to give the track a Silver Bullet
There's nothing "Light" about me
My record speaks for itself when these motherfuckers doubt me
Call the reverend for the exorcism
Get these demons out me
Send 'em screamin back to hell
And when I hear the beep they talk, I need a sleeping bag, for real
I am so tired of the bullshit
I can't make my appointment, tell the doctor that I'm still sick
And then re-up my prescription
But they don't make a medicine to clear up my condition
I'ma read up on my history and give up my religion
"When you believe in things you don't understand, then you suffer"
-- Stevie Wonder, "Superstition"
After midnight, in my boxer shorts, I wander to the kitchen
Cause I need a glass of water
Does anybody love Grip?
Well, you'd need to ask my daughter
You'd have to ask my son if I could be a better father
Some people never bother
Just another vicious cycle that I don't want any part a'...
It don't come any harder
So don't come any farther
I guess that's what I'm sayin'
They call it devil music, so I guess that's what I'm playin'
People wonder what my color is like "Steppin' to the A.M."
I know that you're not old enough to get that line
I'll prob'ly use a different rhyme
But, honestly, I couldn't really care
My middle finger, I'ma put it in the air like it's a picket sign
Ain't you know I got it?
"And what is 'it', exactly?"
What is this, a joke? I am offended that you asked me
All my levels on a billion times a billion so get back, we
'Bout to kill it, son, it's filthy like the back seat of a taxi
I'm sayin', the flow is is nasty
I'm insane, the flow is Kathy...Bates in Misery:
I'm breakin' legs
This your brain on drugs
And Grip is in the kitchen makin' eggs
People always gotta talk
I can hear 'em in the hall
I can hear 'em change the volume of the TV through the wall
You can chalk it up to ignorance
Jot it on the whiteboard
If I get any higher I'll require a longer mic cord