Dead Art Painting

What goes up comes down, life is so precious Ate a cloud for breakfast, we all separate and they desperate Money bet cake, now it's return on that investment Making friends is not a item you can see inside my checklist Why take ‘em back when I’m going forward? All for it in a shed drunk sawing coffins And going through the totals, I done stacked a hundred fifty And it’s fuckin’ with me cause I’m making more and it's fuckin’ pretty They all are dead to me, alive inside this melody Effort free, no cost, I’m sucka free, so off Bitch this is my house, I should take my clothes off ‘Cause I feel like a little Dean on chill ice Cue horns, the fuck out my way, let me sit down Reassess, everything is positive so I can prolong Preparation, dedication kept me syndicatin’ Rotation second natured, and I’m raising all the sleepy faces Ain’t at a stand-still, gotta make mad moves Love having fans, but what’s a fan if they rap too? Talking to God, eyes closed with a spread heart Challenged with a dead art, re-painting with a head start Get ready for the rider, for the roller, my God Bomb hard song-to-song, get it on, going strong And my legs never tired, give me fifty-five batons Keep lappin’, hit the finish, I’m flickin’ a Nikon Taking pictures of these frauds, the game is super wrong Bench, warmers want stripes keep it funky they wan' fight Not worthy of a jersey on the sidelines, tight Tyronn Lue types, it’s all good, on a flight Just to go meet him, and he started speakin’ How he believed in me, how the world was gon’ be mine And how I got him through it And how he thought about me down, and he’s fucking with the sound I can’t disgrace him in the ground so Every bar hook, every photo with a star looks for him Hold my head high so he can see my chin And I try to play it back, and it hurts, I can’t pretend His best advice was "roll solo ‘cause these niggas ain’t your friends"