I’m the big time nobody, raw dawg fresh
Bars like Mardi Gras in progress
Yeah I dig money like the next man’s son,
And I’ve chased it enough to put a sweatband on.
I rep War Town to the bed pan come.
Ima pour red rum over top of deez drums.
Dumb kid, did what couldn’t be done.
A lot of what I spoke should remain unsung.
When it comes to things, your boy run, run.
When it comes to kings, Christ’s the only one
Suffice to say, the price was paid!
Text your next of kin and type away
Right away while you’ve still got the right of way.
By the way
Danny, got a studio in his backyard
nows a lot about nuttin’
A little bit about everything.
I had a dream I was coolin’ in the shed
While the world in the bed
Pink Floyd on the tele, helicopter propellin’
Feelin’ like I’m in a helicopter yellin’
Pukin’ up my dinner, I’m spinnin’, I’m spinnin’
When, my pen went out the window sailin’
Like Christopher Cross, gonna ride like the wind
Ain’t no tellin’ where it end and begin
To pretend I know is a no win win
A Hail Mary flows and hope
I’m just goofy as you.
Boujee’s somethin’ I’ve been tempted to do
Or attempt but I’m boogie like these beat up shoes
That I done walked from here to Timbuktu
The name Boone on Hall of Fame will end up too!
The way the hunger strikes, you’d think I’d gave up food.
Cue the fat jokes
Danny, got a studio in his backyard
A silly fool can make you a star.
No hard feelings bro, Take it to heart
I still believe in winnin’, tryin’ to leave a mark.
Lyrically, no blendin’. Are you receivin’ what I’m sendin’?
It may depend on when you’re listenin’.
I get that…so I’ll continue writing louder than the lightening
In a storm while you’re hiking home from the fight
With the psyche of a defeated Viking
While It’s striking
The dramatic effect right there
Unbelievable!
You see that? I wrote it and struggling to read it.
Shoulda hadda know’d it I done brought it to conceited
So I hurried through the blurry parts and hope they get deleted.
Fast forward past the morbid.
My thoughts were found in orbit still hopin’ to score big
If my past was recorded.
I can dig getting’ six figs to spit jams and split wigs.
Anybody hirin’?