Voices

Yeah Pony L and Dr. Strangelove
Once again, I gotta tell you how it is
I used to check out, use the mad route stare at these ugly bitches Sit at the
table with frowns with their stomachs out
Cellulite for weeks, rules in these New York streets
With mad babies, big heads movin' in the stroller
You gettin' older while that dress hangs off your shoulder
You stupid bitch, he’s sick, the kids got the shits
You walkin' wack with those problems in your ass crack
You chose this nigga, he’s a zero girl, doin' nothin'
You was buggin' because the bum had curly hair
You got psyched, the baby came out with some nappy hair
You was a fine freak, thoroughbred dumb with no head
I seen you scrape up your pennies up at B.B.Q.s
Your friends are fat with guts, breakin' all the rules
You choose to lose, no cheers, receivin' boos
Rent is due with some old crab nigga fuckin' you
It’s true, it’s summertime, what you gonna do?
Every winter you got this gay man screwin' you
This bitch is a problem, no money, fuckin' dummy
She’s from the slum actin' fly fuckin' bread crumb
Shopliftin' programs runnin' on the boulevard
Stretch marks leak out your tight dress, your legs are scarred
Yeah…
Voices inside my head
Problems keepin' you fed
This bullshit needs to cease, rappers rappin' for cheese
It’s like a disease the way niggas be snackin' for fees
Executives, even accountants playin' artists like chips
The last time you was legit… I was suckin' on nips
Up in my shit like a dog checkin' for sex
Babies and gettin' the Lex, hey they forget
While the door slammin', dick crammin', eye jammin'
Wait, «My show’s slammin'», cash up your nose Hammond
Landin' deals ain’t shit if your label ain’t shit
Nitwits split for sips while I flip scripts legit
Commit to whippin' ass on the mic, it’s like a fuckin' runway
These niggas is like bitches feelin' through gunplay
One day when lyrical finesse is stressed instead of dress I’ll compress
Compression and hate, blow out the best, but it’s cool
Fools like you makin' crews thats blue stay true
One-Thousand lyrical orators, pay dues
So snooze and get dissed, bust in the head with Cris'
Fake ice on your wrist, I’m nice and you on my dick like piss
You wish you was half the lyricist that I persist to be
Don’t say shit to me, Godfather like Sicily
The misery’s consistencies acidity
Will blemish these abnormalities in the industry
Voices inside my head
Problems keepin' you fed
Voices inside my head
Problems keepin' you fed