Hold up wait a minute all good just a week ago. Crew, at my house, and we party every week and so. On the radio thats my favorite song. Make me bounce around like I don’t know, like I won’t be here long. Now the thrill is gone. Got no patience. Cause I’m not a doctor. Girl why is you lying. Girl why you Mufasa. Yeah, mis casa su casa…..
Donde, está, la biblioteca.
Me llamo T-Bone
La araña discoteca.
Discoteca, muñeca, La biblioteca es en bigote grande, perro, manteca.
Manteca, bigote, gigante, pequeño, cabeza es nieve, cerveza es bueno.
Buenos, dias, me gusta papas frías, bigote de la cabra Es Cameron Diaz.
Yea boi. Boi. Yea. What. It’s 2009. Word.
I think il make writing midnight rhymes a thing.
But I pray to God that it doesn’t end up like Bing.
Cause we all know how that went.
The makers probably can’t afford their rent.
But I think il make due, cause it helps me vent.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going insane.
So pop a pill and cure it with some rogaine.
I feel fine but that’s the calm before the storm.
I can’t explain why but it feels like my mind is being torn.
So I’m sitting on the bathroom floor boxed off with some closure.
Cause I like the mental wards in those pretty lil brochures.
Honestly don’t know why I even write this all out.
Cause this must be the 100th time I spit rhymes from my mouth.
But they don’t go anywhere cause I’ve got low self-esteem.
Living off my music would be my one and only dream.
But its temporary.
Plus the thoughts always leave me so fuckin weary.
Then it suddenly stops being my sanctuary.
So forget the promenade, lets juggernaut down through memory lane.
Leave no thought alive, down to the slaughterhouse I’m takin my pain.
TV makes sense, it has structure, logic, rules, and likeable leading men. In life theres reality. We have failure, we have dissapointment, and we have this.
I dont know what “this” is but it sounds pretty bad..