More raps from the young black bastard, half my tracks are un-mastered, I’m no god,
But my flows cause cracks in the plaster, feel my wrath like disasters, I’m bad, ask your pastor
I’m tight, but my life’s ass-backwards, a spaz in a castle of hazards, and I don’t know why…
I can find passwords for Brazzers, but can’t find ass in this city, they won’t fuck with me
I’m three tens short of a buck fifty with a pretense to bypass her defense, and that’s messed up
I got enough crushes to fill packs of Camels, staining my heart like tar on enamel,
Half man, half animal, and half romantic who’s entranced by the tangible, when it comes to rap, I wrote the manual,
But I was never good at fractions, or big on love like Bill Paxton, still I’d like-like to find out what happens when back bend
Wrapped in passionate postures, buried inside bed sheets like ostrich heads in the sand, but instead I just stand behind impregnable panic walls
Erected on all sides when I lay eyes on the objective… from his perspective, sex is a reflexive verb and noun, tried to swim, but I’m drowning
Tried to stand on land, but even then, I’m drowning too. Man, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do
They said I gotta…

Get it in, get it in, get it in, get it in, get it in, get it in,
Aye aye aye

The cynic in me sees emptiness, and it’s infinite, this emanation of aging is imminent, an indiscriminant force of truth,
‘Cause youth is a club with no re-entry, feeling snubbed by the scene we invented,
This skin is a penitentiary, attended by inmates with wasted potential, feeling miniscule in the face of prudentialism
Conventional wisdom’s causing a schism in my psyche, is it like me to ever shop for sensible shoes?
What’s the principle, dude? Seeing hints of my eventual doom, had a penchant for playing instruments when I’ve been in my room
Now, I’m convinced that I’m defenseless and the end will be soon, I’ve got no tinder to rekindle the blaze
As if spring was a phase, and winter’s more than a season, it’s getting cold these days, I often rhyme without reason
The ride to work and malaise go together like peas in a pod, I’m no god, my lips chap and my skin cracks faster
I lived a lifetime in this last year, and my black ass has the scars to prove it, got a whole body that hurts when I move it
Am I broken or broken in? Is it prime time or twilight? Are these grey hairs or silver highlights?
Sippin’ Miller High Life, looking back on my life, maybe it’s the beer, but I’m starting to fear that I might just be…

Getting on, getting on, getting on, getting old, getting on, getting up there