State of the Sick (a freestyle)
Posted: Mon Jun 07, 2010 3:54 am
Note: I don't know guys, I'm just tired and I feel like shit, so I don't know I penned this to vent so don't judge too harshly but feeds cool.
start:
Spit fast or spit slow,
none of you know where this shit about to go,
I’m going to hit every floor,
from pac to rocks,
everything I drop is a shock,
like a bomb, in the stans,
it’s all about the man smashing us down,
taking the crown ,
and popping out of windows,
causing poets to be dropping like flies,
then they spread these lies,
better than they did in nam,
recently shits been changing,
my life is rearranging,
now their’s a girl named janey,
and now everything is starting to grainy ,
who is it her or callie,
is she really waiting to tally the days I’m away from home,
is she really waiting to roam these streets,
praying one day she won’t see a cap in my head, me dead
and my blood at her feet,
but anyways, can’t believe that I’m still styling,
while I’m crying, and lying acting like it’s fine,
acting like I’m not willing to put a gun to my head,
press the trigger, and hope I end up dead,
before I hear the splat, and with that
another prince killed,
before he even thrilled,
a crowd, before he got loud,
and this noise became my voice,
and I could sway audiences , as if this was my final play,
right before the big game,
before the reporters were shouting my name,
and I was framed , and stabbed , and robbed,
and my moms sobbed,
before they sent me to rehab,
and decided I relapsed, and caved couldn't be saved,
and the bullets rolled down from the sky,
the witnesses didn’t cry, they wanted me to die ,
wanted me to live in a casket,
while the rest of them basked in the glory,
and I guess that’s the end of my story. The state of the sick.
start:
Spit fast or spit slow,
none of you know where this shit about to go,
I’m going to hit every floor,
from pac to rocks,
everything I drop is a shock,
like a bomb, in the stans,
it’s all about the man smashing us down,
taking the crown ,
and popping out of windows,
causing poets to be dropping like flies,
then they spread these lies,
better than they did in nam,
recently shits been changing,
my life is rearranging,
now their’s a girl named janey,
and now everything is starting to grainy ,
who is it her or callie,
is she really waiting to tally the days I’m away from home,
is she really waiting to roam these streets,
praying one day she won’t see a cap in my head, me dead
and my blood at her feet,
but anyways, can’t believe that I’m still styling,
while I’m crying, and lying acting like it’s fine,
acting like I’m not willing to put a gun to my head,
press the trigger, and hope I end up dead,
before I hear the splat, and with that
another prince killed,
before he even thrilled,
a crowd, before he got loud,
and this noise became my voice,
and I could sway audiences , as if this was my final play,
right before the big game,
before the reporters were shouting my name,
and I was framed , and stabbed , and robbed,
and my moms sobbed,
before they sent me to rehab,
and decided I relapsed, and caved couldn't be saved,
and the bullets rolled down from the sky,
the witnesses didn’t cry, they wanted me to die ,
wanted me to live in a casket,
while the rest of them basked in the glory,
and I guess that’s the end of my story. The state of the sick.