George Samaha - Make me Famous lyrics

Verse 1: I spit rhymes, to fright Pick up my pen and I write My pride depends on the hours In which I spend by my mic Rapping, in spite I tend to hurt as long as I write I might be trending Cause I slur your words and spit like im white I might be hyped cause im lurching And smelling worse than Van Dyke The type of guy, to bring the inner side Of bonnie and clyde Get off tonight with rum and ice Get lost like Romney and sigh To find yourself, inside The bed of a pink Porsche of a black buy And a life? I don't have one I just rather drop hits And my mic? I won't quit Until it floods up in spit But I might, one day just lose it And revert to this nuisance To all the f*ggots talking dirt And don't know sh** about music Don't try to spit like your fluent Your fairy kit you see through it Your dicks are bluing Asphyxiate the sh** out of illusion With every thump, drop a line With the ba**, to be slit And leave a scar with every rhyme On the land of your wits Chorus: Just make me famous Im tired of stealing my paps beer Make me famous Inspire instead of being inspired Make me famous Im tired of seeing my mom's tears Here's to my Suspenders And door men in ten years Make me famous Im tired of walking around nameless Make me famous The sour taste of being a stranger Make me famous Unknown and I hate it Stoned polyphonic prose On your radio, it goes Just make me famous Verse 2: When I decide rap Its best to stitch my lips shut I sip the blood of a sinner And spit it out of my guts Pick up, the rhymes knots To hit like a whip it And with explicit, signs swapped To have it stick when it drops Slurped cough with the medicine Knocked off my bed again The vodka's filtering Off topic, off of gin Now oxygen lackin, im off guard And barf again, what happened Walls notched, and cops on My a** again When rapping's, all I got Heart's my only pa**ion Ill rap, what I got Till im boxed up in ashes Its so fatuous To fisticuff with these rappers Ravenous to be the best Don't spit to cuss at the baddest (why) My back's strapped with Arabic- Bad habits, im arrogant That's not gonna stop me From BLOWING half you Americans Punks, diss spilling Heat loathing, admit A sheep, in wolves clothing With the name of a b**h Chorus