Sick To Death

If I had to list the shit that just rubs me the wrong-way

Well that's a long list , so this could be a long-day !

My mind's a volcano about to blow a strong-spray

Of lava on the world and leave it burnt like Pompeii

But first off-on-the-list

Would be the whirlwind of monotonous-pricks

Getting signed up, thinking they're hot-in-their-whips

When they're as talented as a piece of rhinoceros-shit

Those and the ones flopping-their-lips

About how they're on the block, and they're poppin'-them-clips

You're not a blood, and you're not-in-the-crips

Don't give a fuck where you're from you'll get shot-in-your-ribs

This industry needs a sarcophagus-quick

I truly hope Rick Ross trips, and his esophagus-rips

It's just as well I ain't famous or up-in-the-Brits

What with the murderous thoughts I have as often-as-this

Sick of living lower-class

Where we're all on benefits, shottin or we're growing-grass

Crazy mentalities growing-fast

So many stabbings now, even the news reports ain't so-aghast

Pissed off with this block-mentality

Everyone in the role of being lost-in-tragedy

From a kid, this attitude's adopted-gradually

Til you just repeat the cycle of concocted-fallacies

Sick of rappers claiming that they represent-the-slums

When there ain't a track they ever made that don't mention-guns

Either that or they parade how they spent-their-funds

Posing with chicks in a whip they only rented-once!

Sick of being broke-as-hell

In a city where nearly everyone else is broke-as-well!

Every track I ever made I devote-myself

But with this game full of fakes how am I supposed-to-sell?!

Wondering if I'll make a living off Hip-Hop

Cause right now, I'm living off the chicken and chip-shop

Pissed off with being pissed-off!

Pissed off there ain't a fucking point where this list-stops !

Sick of all these phony-friends

Acting close, but only wanna know-me-when

It's useful, might as well of not known-me-ten

Days ago, But if I blow I bet I'll be your homie-then !

Sick of not getting respect-I-deserve

Not even a third, see the skill etched-in-my-words

Ain't really sure if I'm blessed-or-I'm-cursed

To be addicted to these rhymes and perfecting-this-verse

Pissed of with being human

Stuck on a rock with infinite mysteries looming

We should be moving forward and improving

Instead we're all clones, too busy with consuming

Everybody just spewing the same platitudes

God forbid someone greets me with an attitude

Cause with the way I'm feeling now, you'll be battered-bruised

Blown apart and left on the ground as a pair of scattered-shoes

Sick of Earth man I'm leaving

Pissed off with every thought I'm conceiving

Why stay? Can't even think of a reason

Matter of fact I'm sick of breathing