crashed my whip on memory lane, my brain blank
dwellin in my hoodie and...drinkin my drank
thinkin is frank, why they always seem so basic?
it's like I feed 'em the real, they can't even taste it
they hunger for bullshit cuz...they can't smell it
talk my name quite a bit but...they can't spell it
funny with the money, expand their balloons
walkin to the battlefield with a damaged platoon
dampen the moon, pitch black in my dream state
talkin those were the days, back in the clean slate
when everybody in the world was down to explore
then you get bored and it got harder to score
put points on the board...fuck it, I'm sorry yall
not used to this hoodie or rappin from the skull
I'm used to the heart where it's not stupid or smart
kick rhymes from the start and eat the freshest part
these fuckin pills....

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it's time to get ill