Maybe it's me sneaking up from the underground
a voiceless man, who kept low on the prowl
who moved slow all around but never made a sound
stood with crossed arms and head down til now,
it's machetes and black bags
you ain't ready well that's bad
coming hard while you brought half that
not even half, more like 1 joke plus 1 joke
then you choke but it's less then that
your all wrapped up in music tryin to consume
a dream that will never leave your bedroom
to stupid so you assume your career will zoom
when it's only going to launch you to fall to your doom
try to invision yourself in my place
but it's only going to make me want to hit you for being in my face
your music's stale, passed it's due date,
leaves everyone who presses play in a paralysis state
i cant picture myself being in a room with you
i'd hang myself if you tried to fit in my shoes
this is an illness i don't think i'll get through
i might be insane but at least im not in the same room as you
making friends with a bullet is what i'd rather pull too
even if im going to hell, miles out of sight relaxing in a taboo
feels much better then being their stressing tryin to understand your point of view
please point me in a direction far away if you have to
i'm coming close to ending it all like the man on fox news
who took police on a chase in arizona because he was clueless on what to do
so if my next step leads me to it being my last
keep yourself a million feet away from my casket

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