Until I Die

[Verse 1: Chris Webby] I started in the game on the grind and I still am All of it off a sweat on my back without a deal man Spit it real, and treat em like protected areas in Alaska Cause they about to know the drill man So fuckin' illy that I got to pop a pill again Adderall XR 20 or 30 milligrams Gotta stay focused in the land of opportunity Prepared for any twist and turn that anybody threw at me Grew to be a beast learned it all up in the cypher All off the top slaughtered 90% of you writers Regardless of my fuckin' heritage and nationality I grew up decapitating anybody who battled me Rappin' rapidly ain't nobody be lappin' me Jackie Joyner-Kersee 26 paces in back of me An alcoholic but fuck it homie I'd rather be Liquored up not givin' a fuck and livin' lavishly On the go hard diet I burn calories Setting fire to mics til the melted plastic and ash you see I've lost my marbles somebody should straight jacket me Latch it and throw the key in the deepest part of the blackest sea Toss me on an island like fuckin' Survivor casted me And still I'll make it back and make every hater a casualty Running Connecticut, shouts to my homie Apathy And shouts to everyone who supported me on my path to be Successful in one way or an other cause grammatically They know no one could fuck with my metaphorical masterpiece Got the fuckin' Grim Reaper coming after me The good die young someone show me where the casket be [Hook: Daniel Zavaro] I keep on moving forward With my head held high I do this shit forever or at least until I die Ain't no use in stopping I got nothing left to hide I do this shit forever You couldn't stop me if you tried [Verse 2: Chris Webby] Nobody fuckin' with my flow man Modern day Conan, swords swingin' in both hands Hip-Hop is all I know man Bang bitches to Chronic 2001 motherfuckin' Slow Jam Keep grindin' til the day that Webby holds the belt Make my haters sit the fuck down, Franky Roosevelt With that polio flow homie I'm dope as hell Captain of my movement and I'm treatin' all of my soldiers well My fans know I won't give rhymin' a rest And I mean that, from the left side of my chest I got heart, so all you motherfuckers step your game up Me with a microphone is like Bob Ross with a paint brush All you lame fucks gettin' pummeled from the waist up I don't need a cheap shot to leave your raps laid up Shane Mosley with punches fuckin' your face up Eatin' at roofs Chris now let me raise the stakes up [Hook x2]