I'm not as sure, life's a beach but I'm not ashore,
Time sailed by on me but I shot an oar,
I keep a perfect joke in my bottom drawer,
Have you heard this one before?
If you answer without laughing you'll be the first mate,
What does a man with a stutter say to you on ya birthday?
Ha-ha-ha-
It's all jokes n games until I reach for a loaded guage n blow ya brains all over the backseats of a stolen range,
Seats stained, soaked then watch,
As we pull on to the hard shoulder, stop,
Kick em out the out the whip with a makeover, what?
Cuz their clothes went from monotone to polkadot,
I hold a Glock summat like a fashion designer slash mechanic & driver remapping attire,
Their ambitions like making "when we get out" plans with a lifer,
I don't sell dreams, I'm not a fantasist either,
Paint pictures, put in graft as a writer,
Caught bullets in my teeth n played catch with the sniper,
Strike major chords, they just fall flat n it's minor,
Some are obsessed with multisyllabic stackin in ciphers,
I can take it or leave it,
Maybe that's a lie or maybe I mean it,
Without a doubt I doubt everything from maybes to mean-its so when I say maybe I mean it,
If you read this n steal it cuz the flows berzerk,
Everybody's gonna know who really wrote the work,
So when you're left with a bill n haven't sold ya merch,
It's cuz you stole my rhymes & I stole em first