[Intro: BTK]

Doin' it till my fuckin' lungs shut down..

Which is probably about to be real fuckin' soon..

God I need a cigarette..

I think cigarettes the last thing I want for this song

[Verse 1:]

Busy tryna keep track

With all the females

I'm itching with the disease of a game

Playin' with the same kind of details

Still wonder how many beats he sell

How many streets he sweep with all that heat

He keeps wrote on the sheet

Keeps it cold as fuck when he speak

Delete that shit and rewrite if it don't creep and leap

Up on a beat, back up off the mat

If you stack that whack, my life

Is playin' games, writin' songs

Slayin' gays, bitin' thongs

No motha fucka's finna tell me

This ain't where I belong

Pass out from exhaustion, stare at the walls

Got a problem but can't ever seem to find the cause

Feel like I'm 'bout to fall

Pick me up, pickin' it up, pickin' it up

Metals in the clip, stick em up for the bucks, fuck

Run out of money, but don't run out of luck

The pain just to maintain the trust to bust

Ain't it funny how you try so hard to get straight

Leave the drugs and the cups and the games

Don't you think, shit gon' benefit me?

At least a week? Write depression in the beats

Just to read it and wheep

Can't believe half the shit, I see in this

Overwhelming situation

I'ma leave this bitch, plead the fifth

I drank just to feed the trip, believe me

He crazy, when he tease the grip

Almost like I'm losing track, losing faces

Fall back from a few, cause I'm losing patience

Feel I'm a patient with a mental state of this anxiousness

Come clean, plate is tainted with

A couple mistakes I made, when I played with tricks

Ain't no motha fucker here, finna get a second chance

Either take it or leave

Just get even in advance

I'm just tired of the jokes

Finna cope with dirty bands

WOO!