What Up

[Hook 1: Dey Bishop] Got lots to feel, mental full of stress Pop a pill to stop the thrill, menthol for the stress What up, hey, what up, hey All out of matches need to match up the stress Hit the local man, need a bag of the best What up, what up [Verse 1: Dey Bishop] From horses and carriages to Porsches the average is four or more Samaritans floored when the cannon spit Poor as moors in the Vatican, resources sourced to snorting purer than the lord of the Aryans Love my people though the steeple looks abandoned and Wax folds or raps flowed the backbone to flashing it Dream to drop a hook and get that Grammy board asking 'Do you want the nomination', facing Ls while I'm laughing Ugh, that's just a pipe dream when life seems a dead end When selling white to fiends is a nice scene to get bread I had a dream, ha, and its still its brewing clear I met Pac hes stopped and asked what I'm doing here I said you soon to hear A foolish fear, so I'm liable to rival idols in bibles and stifle a writer that choose to near my crew in here TrapBang, your truest fear And motherfuck the world, its just a stupid sphere Excuse me dear, I'm busy facing this toxin In this h-e-l-l dealing H is an option And school can give a fuck, so with the crew we live it up Got that brew up in my cup, hope to leave the bay in the hospice [Hook 1: Dey Bishop] [Hook 2: Dey Bishop] Got lots to feel, mental full of stress Pop a pill to stop the thrill, menthol for the stress What up, hey, what up, hey Found myself a match, about to match up the stress Fuck the local man, he can keep him the cess What up, what up [Verse 2: Dey Bishop] Dey Bishop he, sits awake and merrily hates Then spits flame like he kerosene laced the swisher sweet Dey Bishop, assed out on the floor Cheetohs in his left hand, passed out with a ho Momma tell me get a plan, I'm zanned out by the door Not with a theft record, so stage left exit My pay check it, hand outs and zeros Reminiscing as a child Nagasaki off the swing set Like I'm a kamikaze just ain't got my wings yet Back when where mommy was the only stress Now its liquor tummies and menthol breath Feeling like a zombie with mental stress like Like I don't know my dads sick, I'm aware hes numb He'd rather lie to my face instead of scaring his son Is that incredible deceit or the most bearing love So I just retreat, be there and act dumb Ha, and these rappers claiming they real Sign a soul away, and hope and pray for a deal FV'll say I don't post enough dates I got homies overdosing, fuck a status update I ain't laughing up fakes, I ain't stacking up plates So 'oh, heres my soundcloud', I view that as a buffet Ha, at the laundromat with the fiends A numb insomniac steady chasing the dream Its Dey