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 !#!&
The type 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 !@$)gots talking dirt

and don't know %#@! about music

don't try to spit like your fluent

your fairy kit you see through it
your dicks are bluing
asphyxiate the %#@! out of illusion


with every thump, drop a line,
with the bass, 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 $$# again

when rapping's, all I got
heart's my only passion
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 (*##$

Chorus