At the tender age six I played Duck, Duck, Goose/ At my tender age of six I tried to duck what shoots./ What’s life’s meaning when no life runs through/ these veins. Don’t think the ways of holy life saves you./ At an early age friends turned lifeless dudes/ who wore chains roun’ their waist, handcuffs won’t loose./ Asking, “What’s the point of trying when my tries won’t do?”/ Answer back, “Let me ride.” like Who rider’s do./ Their moms cop caskets so they’re lifeless proof/ that every body wears bags in a coroners coupe./
Take a hammer to the ceiling, wanna shatter glass roofs./ But systematic racists tryna crush what moves/ up oily rungs that lead to life less crude./ So, I’m callin’ shotgun as I spike this juice,/ send a shiver to my liver reminisce my crew/ for your homies gunned down who were wild, too cool/ to get up out the ghetto cuz ghetto lives got roots./ Used to joke ’bout pourin’ 40s sippin’ my grape juice./ Now that I got dead homies, pourin’ out ain’t cool./ As a youngin’ thought of thuggin ’til the thugs said, “Foo,/ you must be crazy. Can’t you see if you were me you’d choose/ to be you and only you cuz your life’s less screwed./ Hell, you can slang and bang. It ain’t a thang my dude./ But who could change game, better their name? That’s you.”
What’s the meaning of my dreaming? Feeling spikes, nails, screws/ seal my mouth shut as I pry, scrape, pull./ Swish saliva, taste blood and metal through each tooth./ Guess my conscience is guilty for not tellin’ friends who/ I used to kick it with, how in life they grew/ faster than me. Casper friendly as I got ghost, boo./ I’m not hatin’ I’m just statin’ how I might just move/ away and make a name for myself less cool./ I outgrew my ego like a size 10 shoe./ How can I still foot the bill if my life’s past due./ I’m not scared to close the gap tho’ I might just lose/ some friends along the way. A longer life past youth/ is all I ever want, lived for my dead few.