[Verse 1:]
My looks wrong, I know I sound odd
But when I hit the mic the first time, I found God
I'm not downtrodden, lack a great bod, and I be looking more like the crowd on Cape Cod
But ever since I pumped up my Reeboks, before "Fiddy" and his unit from the G block
I been rhyming in the mirror, blending in,
like a diamond in the clear, trying to strut it like a peaco*k
I taught myself how to beat box
When I was listening to Jay 5 and Pete Rock
2Pac and Chief Rock, you know, that we gotcha
Chillin' like a meat locker, hotter than some sriracha
Sip a bitter memory, and make an ugly face as if it's nothing but some cheap vodka
Just some f**in' mind erasers
But I'm from the bay, and we don't spend a dime on chasers
[Hook:]
All I wanted to do is write rhymes
All I ever wanted to do is write rhymes
All I ever wanted to do is write rhymes
(Huh?) Is that a crime?
(What?) To write rhymes?
[Verse 2:]
I don't be an economist
I don't want to be a cheap novelist
I don't want to be a weed or a botanist
I don't want to be a pimp or bottom b**h
I don't want to be a strip club manager
And I'd hate to be a strip club janitor
Mopping up for crusty a** customer, bust in their nuts in the cuts I
Just wanna bust a verse
I don't wanna be a court jester
I don't want to be a royal poison tester
I don't wanna pick up dog crap for park and rec
And I don't want to be a doghouse architect
I don't want to be a server
I don't want to flip beef burgers
Be a beat maker
A wal mart greeter
A CEO, an astronaut or a f**ing sheep herder
[Verse 3:]
But the sad fact is, most real folks don't get don't get to practice
What we love for a living
We do backflips
And no matter where we're at on the atlas
Earth spins on it's axis
Back to the rat race
Run the hampster wheel
At a mad pace
We'll run laps till our last days
Just a beast till the last rose petal drops in the gla** case
I'm one of a lucky bunch
But I upchuck my free lunch when s**er punched
I'm f**ing up, I don't want to free pa**
When my ancestors potatoes rotted in the field they would have to eat gra**
And folks put on ski masks
When their back's against the wall throwing right hooks
And I just wanna pen verses, write hooks
Man I'm such lucky a**hole
Someone f**ing slap me with my rhymebook