Dylan Ross - Whole Game lyrics

Tracks to Mundo, digging through the wax of Mundo[?] A lot of people say sh** but I'd rather flap my gums though With enough ba** to make the speakers shake and rumble The Earth crumbles and only I emerge from the rubble With a fowl loader[?] and mad 5 o'clock stubble I been in my bubble just watching my stacks of money double I'm causing trouble, you sticking in[?] Ohio and I still do Still kicking my same dirty mildew Mellowed out jazz for the road trip steazy sh** to make the road trip easy, enjoy the EP I self-released it 'cause no label wants to release me sh**'s too easy, too cheesy, too beneath me I don't even make music anymore I just write an audio diary and get paid for it I could flood the Earth five times over and stay dry Alone in the isle whenever I'm brainstorming, uh I hate Christians, hate Jews, hate Mormons, hate touring, hate Erica, hate Georgia, and... hate Lauren Actually nah, I'm already moving on because hate's boring I'm the beat maker, if other cat's got beats I'll be the beat breaker, independent heat maker Flexing on this MP[?], I'm a damn champ You couldn't even get on my level with a damn ramp I keep the sample damp, I like the groove muddy Shouts to funk friends, they cipher[?] my groove buddies Do a unit study, try to capture me in my rare form for a few minutes before I'm airborne Off to the sea [?] to collect a bill whatever cheddar to piss away before I even return Rappers get burnt when the spatulas get turned And about to make you motherf**ers relearn The how's and why's the rejections The shouts and cries, the answers to the questions The reasons you feel worthlessness I'm not even an MC anymore, I'm a subjective journalist First person, profane, Gonzo I'm not a player I'm the whole game, console I'm not a lost soul sh** I'm just one of denial Stuck at the crossroads, and I just want to walk home I am the one next snapper to these dubstep rappers that wear Alife, going about their gay life Most of them are gay right? If your a player I'm the playwright Say what you may, but everything I say tight This is midnight, lace laced tight for late nights of cutting through the tension with a steak knife In the air, if you care You'd know I don't keep the skeletons in the closet Their in the stairs And my opinions are not in the stairs at all But then again, if I cared at all then I'd probably bear it all My body is a weapon and I craft bullets of regret and regression So if you move, I shoot you full of them