I Hurt MCs like lost love, I hurt em like truth,
I desert em like youth - lyrics so fresh and so clean - I squirt em like douche;
Pervert em like loot, divert em like Bruce
While I’m Batman trying to save society, but my anxiety
Is registering off the fear meter, I need a f--king cheer leader,
Wake up each morning to “Ready? OKAY!”
Motivate me through my whole day,
Keep me from going through with that “special” visit to the B of A;
But I’m too far in debt though, pockets got a echo,
(Echo) Don’t give up, look down, or let go;
You got to keep on pressin, stop your stressing,
learn your lessons, count your blessings, get up-get dressed and
Quit shouting you broke with weed in your hand, defeatin your plan,
You catch me with my feet in the sand - getting dirty
I should have been born tomorrow,
The simple-minded say I’m hard to follow, the biters say I’m hard to swallow;
I be confusing brothas, like a white girl with ass;
While God’s telling me to chill out cause this too shall pass;
But I can’t fathom omnipotence, so I’ll just trust,
And I can’t plan to get rich with this, so I’ll just bust;

And this year I’m going to be hotter than New York when it’s humid,
You better assume it, f--k being one of the mis-for-tunate;
I’m coming up with sick plans for improvement,
As we speak I got a team of girl scouts out on the street to help me move units;
Whatever it takes to show you I want it,
Break into heaven - check God’s “TO DO” list, making sure that I’m still on it;
No time to flaunt it, no time to talk,
Program my VCR to tape my life - I got no time to watch;
You catch me hustling (up at dawn), hustling (no lunch),
Hustling (12 midnight) I’m still hustling!
100 mile dash in quick sand - Put your muscle in!
No rest for the weary, no progress without suffering;
Take a Bufferin and get the f--k back up, just fill that cup,
That chest pain? Just suck that up;
That’s just oppression eating at your flesh, the pressure keeps you at your best,
Check the mirror to remind yourself who’s fresh;

So, I speak to the silence, I sing in the dark,
I represent the last working swing in the park;
To be pushed by a woman on a righteous path, with might and class,
Unarmored in her light I bask;
It wouldn’t hurt if she had the nicest ass,
To keep my Johnson rising like the price of gas - 92
Catch me digging up in it like I’m trying not to lose nothin’,
Hit it like a snooze button - that’s 3… 4 times;
Rhythmically stoking it in 3/4 time,
Tense up and shoot from the free throw line
While bumping Prince till my neighbors down the hallway trip,
I rarely get over 4 hours of sleep - I’m always sick;
Yet I always spit lyrics that keep me just below wealthy,
But mentally and spiritually healthy - lyrically help the
Feeble and poetically challenged,
I only feed you what’s aesthetically balanced - Call me your four-course meal;
Got your appetizer, vegetables, side dish, entree,
Breakfast, dinner, lunch they never get full;
The cleverest fool, bi-coastal - I roam like a celly,
I’m the palm tree in New York, the snow in L.A.,
So while you waking up, I’m working, you punching out? I’m working,
You taking your ass to bed? … I’m still working!!
My lyrics stay froze with no ice and no ring,
I just let my sooooooul glow like “bling - bling!” - until at least one of you … finally … sings.

© 2001 S. Andrews, All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication or use is a violation of applicable laws.

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