Hyperaptive - Sick To d**h lyrics

Sick To d**h If I had to list the sh** that just rubs me the wrong-way Well that's a long list , so this could be a long-day ! My mind's a volcano about to blow a strong-spray Of lava on the world and leave it burnt like Pompeii But first off-on-the-list Would be the whirlwind of monotonous-pricks Getting signed up, thinking they're hot-in-their-whips When they're as talented as a piece of rhinoceros-sh** Those and the ones flopping-their-lips About how they're on the block, and they're poppin'-them-clips You're not a blood, and you're not-in-the-crips Don't give a f** where you're from you'll get shot-in-your-ribs This industry needs a sarcophagus-quick I truly hope Rick Ross trips, and his esophagus-rips It's just as well I ain't famous or up-in-the-Brits What with the murderous thoughts I have as often-as-this Sick of living lower-cla** Where we're all on benefits, shottin or we're growing-gra** Crazy mentalities growing-fast So many stabbings now, even the news reports ain't so-aghast Pissed off with this block-mentality Everyone in the role of being lost-in-tragedy From a kid, this attitude's adopted-gradually Til you just repeat the cycle of concocted-fallacies Sick of rappers claiming that they represent-the-slums When there ain't a track they ever made that don't mention-guns Either that or they parade how they spent-their-funds Posing with chicks in a whip they only rented-once! Sick of being broke-as-hell In a city where nearly everyone else is broke-as-well! Every track I ever made I devote-myself But with this game full of fakes how am I supposed-to-sell?! Wondering if I'll make a living off Hip-Hop Cause right now, I'm living off the chicken and chip-shop Pissed off with being pissed-off! Pissed off there ain't a f**ing point where this list-stops ! Sick of all these phony-friends Acting close, but only wanna know-me-when It's useful, might as well of not known-me-ten Days ago, But if I blow I bet I'll be your homie-then ! Sick of not getting respect-I-deserve Not even a third, see the sk** etched-in-my-words Ain't really sure if I'm blessed-or-I'm-cursed To be addicted to these rhymes and perfecting-this-verse Pissed of with being human Stuck on a rock with infinite mysteries looming We should be moving forward and improving Instead we're all clones, too busy with consuming Everybody just spewing the same platitudes God forbid someone greets me with an attitude Cause with the way I'm feeling now, you'll be battered-bruised Blown apart and left on the ground as a pair of scattered-shoes Sick of Earth man I'm leaving Pissed off with every thought I'm conceiving Why stay? Can't even think of a reason Matter of fact I'm sick of breathing