ERS

[Verse 1: Cal Scruby]

It's interesting

Do you remember why you're here?

They told me it's ERS

And I can't rap about anything but

Weed, Cars, Sex

And if I talk about love

They goin' to show love less

And if I talk about money

Then they say I'm up next

So I'm down for the cause, for the blogs, and the media

Fake style, fake rhymes, those are the ingredients

Who could be the greediest?

(What rhymes with greediest?)

Superficial life style, civil disobedience

And I don't even say shit

Try to find a content its buried under the beat and layin' in a coffin

Carry over the beef and stir it in a pot

With a little confidence and call that a concoction

And give it to the fans

I can feed em' outa' hand

They don't care about the words

Cause they only wana' dance

But they memorize em' anyway

Recite em' in a trance

Makin' dollars off the music

Without even makin' sense

I don't really understand

I'm just waist deep in the game

Knuckle deep in the money

And balls deep in the fame

But to keep it one-hundred

I got this shit in the bank

And I'm just gettin' paid

I don't give a shit what I say

It takes thirty-four minutes just to write and record

Fifteen for the verse and nineteen for the chorus

I mislead with the words, you think I can afford

A Benz when I'm in a 94 Honda Accord

Of course my debut tape was hotter than my new tape

Cause I don't really give a shit

It only took a few days

Its cold shit, new age

Epitome a two face

Like officer I'm innocent

I just made the kool-aid

So you can charge me with a tooth ache

I sugar coated everything

It's looking like a Soufflé

I say I'm original and everything subliminal

But really I just look a little different

Like it's DVD to Blu-Ray

But I got delivery

I just need a due date

My rhymes over head like newly wed bouquets

I should probably double knot my shoelace

I'm trippin' like a mothafucka' livin' out a suitcase

Wait, I'm feelin' better now

Over the weather now

And under the radar

And I don't need no A&R

I don't need no day job

I just keep on killin em'

Feelin' better than good

A right click synonym

A you won't see Eminiem

Yela, Mac, Asher

Easy, Riff, Kels

Stop namin' white rappers

Race just ain't a factor you backwards bastards

And If I really wanted I could make em' all Caspers