Win Or Lose You Lose

Will cigarettes be the death of me?
Lungs screaming, happy emphysema
Smoke when I’m depressed, helps relieve stress
A part-time father, a baby’s mother can’t be bothered
Couldn’t be the man she need of me
She can be frivolous
So hope rest in the eyes of our daughter
Sanura, I’m a stranger in her aura
A clogged artery, a severed leg
Running with scissors to keep his sanity
An MC, a pen for hire writer
Never followed where the crowd went
A misunderstood presence
Too much future for this present
Personify fresh
Evident when I invent
How you react? You tip your hat
If not, break my arm and pat myself on the back
Unprecendented to my old click, resented
So I’m ghost, gone, moved on
Not only my aesthetics apply
It’s all about--
Janet and Bob’s 1st born 71, 3rd July
Run like a tear to the eye
Go and tell 'em you don’t wanna
He bring heat to the beat
Wearing a fleece in a sauna
See that kid? Why would you wanna?
He bring heat to the beat
Wearing a fleece in a sauna
Win or lose you lose
You don’t wanna
He bring heat to the beat
Wearing a fleece in a sauna
See that kid? Why would you wanna?
He bring heat to the beat
Wearing a fleece in a sauna
Haunt the hallow dancing brick
My narrow ass I wiggle for change
Flamboyant, my attire impress in front of a crowd
Drunk vomit and pee
Pull out my Diddy
Baby batter splatter on wax
Glistens like semen spreading my unborns on her back
Judy Garland click my heels and make it happen
In contrast, you give the fans what they want
When they ask they money back
Elated, time to inhale the coffin nail
We celebrated, after my mic evaporated
My time is coming, what y’all waiting for?
I’ve arrived, sorry I got delayed
Perfectionist, I say no rhyme before it’s time
Worldwide
Warp’s the label that enables my unstable
To disable your turntable fables
Captured on tape
Yet the prose remain fluid and unaffected by shape
No rules
A roof with no walls
I walk in front, never amongst you
Fleeting fumes in the flame of fame
Ass burping, flapping your lips
Flatulence, bloated on bland
Like eating cardboard
For every one vapid MC
There will be 3 heard
Collectively placing their hands
In a rotating fan screaming