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When I was a kid |
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We used to play a game |
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I think you know the rules of our game |
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I have no time to play games |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
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Strip you of vibrato |
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While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
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Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
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Strip you of vibrato |
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While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
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Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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Sit, hear the clock tick |
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Watch the leaves on the plant flick |
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From the fan above, the room and I lit |
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Head trip, deliberate |
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Cease fighting the feeling and submit, flow with it |
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Like the path pre exists in hidden codes Masonic |
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They peep us like a web cam from the pyramid's attic |
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Passed from hand to hand, let's say coincidence |
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Or better yet, sixth sense |
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My instincts telling me to back up from that handshake that was intense |
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My instincts telling me to back up from that handshake that was intense |
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Brush it off and commence |
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Blame it on myself tripping |
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'Til the shit hits the fan |
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'Cause I steered from the plan |
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About face, and Billy Jean step into place |
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Throw my coat on the hook |
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Recap the time that I wasted |
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I know that spitting's a bad habit |
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But I can't help the taste |
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Still searching for the clues as it becomes a cold case |
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Procrastinator |
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'Til I think to remove the sheet from your face |
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Reveal the naysayer |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
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Strip you of vibrato |
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While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
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Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
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Strip you of vibrato |
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While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
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Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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How could you do this to me |
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Me, me, me, me |
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Don't you ever get tired of thinking about your dope, greedy small self |
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Now you ain't saying nada |
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Sweating, getting hotta |
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Change your tune, why botha |
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I'm bought to rip you up |
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Such a control freak |
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You mouth the word's I speak |
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You question me, but you ain't even listening |
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You're world is make believe |
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But I keep pretending that i'm flexible |
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So you think your will's got me bending |
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Putting all your energy into negativity |
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You holding over me while you steady scheming |
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But I'm making moves |
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While you're sleeping and dreaming |
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Of being larger than life |
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You own hype you believing |
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Well now, you've been faking the funk since the beginning |
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Too many chapters in now to rewrite and fix the ending |
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Besides, you question what kind of message that be sending |
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That you's a chump, punk butt, so what |
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I care not of the role you choose to play |
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By the way |
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I'm sure of a beginning and an end |
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But everything in between is all grey |
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All grey, all grey, all grey |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
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Strip you of vibrato |
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While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
|
Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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Sometimes I flow staccato |
|
Strip you of vibrato |
|
While you be acting macho |
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I try and switch it up |
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I see the games you play |
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And the traps you lay |
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Not fit to fall in |
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But I let you play them anyway |
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I don't understand this game |
