Check karma at the door,
first man wantin a metaphor is sticking is head into the floor,
you got the whole city behind you in the war,
you're kid OD'n on bottles of cephaclore,

your the next newborn in a bullet proof store,
for chopped up, doccoters, needin you in the ward,
fat man eating his skin out of a gourd,
while mothers feeding him mashed patatoes into his pores,

Maybe writin like this'll get ya bored,
maybe it'll get you a record deal and a tour,
Maybe Julliard'll call back in the morn,
and tell you to fuck off and pick a career in porn,

God forbid I had an education to rhyme with,
see even when I got this shit together it don't stick,
I'd rather watch another citizen kane flick,
this one's how the sled tried escaping the flame pit,

[chorus]
Come on on all ya'll stuck in the background,
where do you go when ya characters checked out,
do you wander, or decide what to play out,
igorance is bliss for the people without doubts,

so

come on everybody up in rafters,
see where do you go when oppurtunity has passed ya,
how can you be a bachelor you ain't even mastered,
ignorance is bliss, for people who answered,

[VERSE 2]
I ain't never gonna make it to year three,
so be it, hey what, Y'know? maybe they fear me,
Maybe I'm overqualified, Maybe it's yearly,
maybe I just a saved ton a money plus a couple of years, see?

or maybe rejected at the point blank,
why the fuck is everyone around me just not frank,
all they want is whatevers around in the black bank,
reality formality I'm just the last tank,

so how much have I drank or attempted to glass shank,
how many bitches have I fucked with a few skanks,
I'm drawing blanks, maybe that was my fears cranked,
maybe my rap application baby was too angst,


So lemme thank the academy, first Hank,
then all the last suckers who'da stayed till the ship sank,
I could name a million who'd forgotten my last rank,
shit I could name a million never heard of me, next skank!

(Verse 3)
I'm all in,
Half of the world's jin and I don't drink much so maybe I can't swim,
or maybe I can't win,
maybe half of the faggots who think that my shit stinks, are lyble to fall in,

Clone me off a twin, and tell him to stop in,
and never pursue whatever tickled his new whims,
watch him make a million eleven in 8 spins,
spend it make a hundred three billion, and take rims,

Grim is the man who thinks ethic is still in,
the stronger heart cometh the pockets'll still win,
someone shut-off both of the lights and hit dim,
on the last one bright to save me a spot thin,

and I don't got a lot o light, left in my stage time,
maybe this the last thing I'll record for my time flies,
I wish I could smile and say, kid this is alright,
But I ain't even happy when I'm rappin this song, why?