Desperado

[Intro]

Uh

Chyeah

Uh

Uh

Dedicated to

This dedicated to

Fuck it

[Verse 1]

Uh, I got a pocket full of posies

Some devil with a pitchfork keep talkin' like he know me

I'm psychopathic, low-key, my hyperactive dome piece get no sleep

Ill as fuck, the hospital seems so weak

I stood before an angel as he told me 'bout the glory

Put me in a room of people, how the fuck could I be lonely?

I only get money, these labels tryna clone me, uh

My thoughts get heavy, hit the ground and crack the concrete

So, I try to keep 'em in my head

It's sad to see when everything that you believe is dead

Word to Heavy D, and rest in peace to all that come and pass

Life is good sometimes, but it just doesn't last

A bunch of stress, you see, this mic is like my punchin' bag

Rock 'n' roll, drugs and cash, you softer than a bubble bath

Sucka-ass mo'fucker, mo'fucker's sediment

Doper than the shit that killed Chris Tucker in Dead Presidents

Desert rhymes, homie, ridin' beats, I'm on a camel

I'm way too hot to handle, life a beach, I brought my sandals, heh

You want a war? I got a lot of ammo

You ain't a soldier 'cause you rockin' camo

Young Rambo, hundred million fans though

And I do it big, you a iPod Nano

Fire on wax, look like I brought candles

Yeah, you got a show, but you ain't on my channel

[Interlude]

That's HBO, bitch, you gotta pay for that

Aha-ha-ha, your channel's free, aha-ha-ha

(I'm gonna fucking kill you) Uh

IMAX some shit, motherfucker, yeah, suck my dick

[Verse 2]

Hey, ayo, I'm 'bout to start gamblin' with Ambien, I'm Dutch smokin'

That's a strike, but fuck bowlin', I could tear a pin of Maryland

See, I'm American, apparently it's damagin'

To be in front of cameras in your underwear with Marilyn

Monroe-lookin' dumb hoes who want too much dough

And come close to have you straight trippin' when you jump rope

Don't rock the love boat, this business fuckin' cutthroat

And it's gonna crack if you just paint the wall with one coat

Rooms filled with blunt smoke, peep me through the fog

These rappers who be hatin' probably need to get a job

See, me, I'm with my squad, gettin' money, livin' comfortable

I know a couple hoes who model, but they ugly though

Fuck a toast, y'all is fuckin' broke, cut ya throat

Judgin' me is nothin' dope, boy, you lyin' under oath

God made the world, why did man make the scriptures?

And if He created Lennon, why'd He go and make a Hitler?

I could take a photo, but I'd rather paint a picture

Of the one Laurence Fishburne, we'll shoot up all you hipsters

I'm from Pittsburgh, that's black and gold

If my skin gets filled up, I'ma tat my soul

Runnin' out of paper, writin' on my hand

Hundred thousand haters writin' 'bout my jams

Want a number-one independent album? I'm your man

I'ma hit Preme and leave you all right where you stand

[Outro]