I used to think that rappers had it figured out: Brass Monkey, St. Ides, Old English, and Guiness Stout; once a man twice a boy with a choice of vice or voice of spite, not enough poisons to pick to enjoy this life then I thought suicide was a suburban myth, I couldn't see my own hands being the ones I'm murdered with, that is until I traveled this world a bit; I understand now if I lose my nerve I'll get the girl to do it; she heard the music but preferred the person, she's worth it, the only one I left behind the curtain to work with, pushin' buttons and playin' with levers, we'll stay together as long as I'm honest in my songs, suckers never play this, scared shitless of dismissing clear channel playlists: poorly developed, yet highly advanced, the black music intertwined with the white man's line dance
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