Tired

We can go, soul for soul, over mic control Kid you can touch me with a ten foot pole And I even made the devil sell me his jewels He was out to cold mock me, and play you for fools Kid, you know the rules, must be smoking (?two for booze?) Try to dis me on the low, got to be a psycho That's alright though, you know you won't see me shaking I'm out to the blow the spot on who's real and who's faking Who's giving, who's taking, who's living, who's starving Dis me on the mic, it's time for headstone carving And epitaph writing, I strike you like lightning Dissolve you like powder, so turn it up louder Go on, pump the wattage, get the cheese, buy a cottage I like mean streets, I like Spanish freaks I like Korean bar-be -que, I like old school beats Chorus: And I'm sick of all the shit that's dropping And I'm tired of all the lip that's popping And all the wack attitudes people copping I'm only tryin' to get a few heads bobbing (Repeat) It go bang bang boogie, I'm sick like a loogie I'm w(e)iser than Bud, I'm thicker than blood I'm moldin' in time, moldin' from the divine How could you be so bold, to think that you'll take mine I'm Cash like Johnny, it's the highway man And I'm walkin' this line the best way I can With my farmer's tan and my bloodshot eyes I ain't body no one, I ain't dropped no pies With the mothers from the gutters I'm 'bout to explode, and blow the spot For now, but the gun, he'll roll Like artillery shells, been from heaven to hell And I'm say a little prayer for every rapper that fell Chorus