early graves

write inside of the eye of the storm
with a hyphen-divided title that sidles by in the shadows
hyper-drive when you trying to ride beside in the morn
with that iodine on my clothing, i wash it out with the form
no pauses, no breaks, and i don't talk to no fakes no more
they all snakes, no more of that
i could write a gorgeous rap and probably make a quarter sack
but i would rather throw it like a quarterback

motherfuckers hoarded that style, and now they bored of it
i'm bored of y'all,
i wish half these cats in my tapestry acted more involved
i wish they'd address me as majesty when i tour the mall
and i wish all the haters that message me could afford it all
it's kinda sad, i don't know what it's like to rhyme that bad
i don't know what it's like to be that kind of mad
i do know what it's like, to sit looking back at the times they had
in passing, but i'm focused on pressing pencil to writing pad aptly

and i don't mean to end abruptly
but i seem to be disgusting all the people here to judge me
and that's lovely, while y'all are obsessing over some painted nails
i'm hopping the safety rails, exiting while the train derails
and this is patience, stale as ever in the passing sense
frail as ever, such a fragile wimp to battle with... yeah
and i don't mean to be a masochist
but after all the shit y'all put me through, i'm kinda glad ya' did

'cause i don't really care for the world these days
the world these days
i got too many homies out here seeing early graves
seeing early graves
and everything is dull when the world's such a boring gray
such a boring gray
i got too many homies out here seeing early graves
seeing early graves