If you gon' smash, and
break down that oak,
Kyle looking ass
with no class;
sit down and take note.
that chain you wear with your pants sagged way below
your kneecaps, cap backwards;
flipping birds behind backs
while you flip burgers, I know
you've got that dice on your dash
listening to songs of murder.
But home life is lavish with desserts served on platters,
in a car your parents bought just so you could be the party crasher.
Drive home with a chick who's way beyond plastered,
then brag about her now biggest regret, you sick bastard.
If you think this shit makes you tough, to blast masters
of the hip hop craft, masturbating while imagining a career in rap...
shut the fuck up, there's nothing for you in that.
Poser, a pussy, no man to come after;
but maybe in prison, if your price is right, you'll cum after.
It's the life you wanted, right? The tragic disaster?