More Credit

Feeling breezy right now like Fucking with a nigga like myself you learn fear The bird’s gears turn the record but in less the, heh You like that, something like that Fucking with a nigga like myself you learn I get more credit I get more credit I get more credit than I, I deserve More credit I get More credit I get More credit than I, I deserve The life and times of a liberal nigga Too conservative to play political figure Which ya, I see a bigger picture Now that I zoomed out They saw trails, like they were shroomed out Open mind, open hearts We playing with precision Like we throwing darts I show these scars When it’s convenient Spitting that dough When it’s intravenous To get ya leaning, like a damn junkie Spending your cash money on chronic and brass monkey I’m half man, half ugly Eternally lost boy that’s been out of the damn country On tour, freestyling for too long is an encore Asking my interpreter to tell them girls that I’m not sure In their native tongue, but then they end up on the top floor That sweet and shame on us, somebody spilt the guardian angel dust Life’s a bitch, I’ll kiss her lips when their cankerous I’m feeling old and cantankerous My minds a box cutter, my words are just razor rust Hold up - hold up - hold up - hold up Save the debates and such That will get us nowhere, man I’d rather take the bus Than let that bitch ride me even though she betrayed my trust Wait, that sounded (?) That sounded Drake, give me a minute to make it up My mind’s money green, my heart is gun metal grey I guess it only makes sense if you come from LA Haters talk crap but it doesn’t really hurt Nos There’s no point to it like hitting seven on the first throw Cause men lie, women lie and numbers can be tampered with A ten and a half hour flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles Or a twenty minute drive to a bar where I rarely go And end up three fingers deep in some whore that I barely know I shouldn't talk like that, cause I’m married bro What goes around comes around like a merry-go But is it cheating if she already knows Its mano a mano; I’m taking Santos’ teeth and stereo Yea, that’s what I call high fidelity I piss excellence and write illegibly I share cigarettes with high celebrities In low society, we live fast and die eventually Fucking scenesters make me sick They lack faith in imagination like an atheist Anything is possible, I've seen successful gangster rappers with no street cred and no obstacles that where as soft as baby shit My dad sold American cars, true My mother used to work in HR, also true So why can a simple team sell you a couples dreams and speak a little Japanese I get more credit, I get More credit, I get More credit than I, I deserve