This is F R U S T R A T I O N
like you holding a nut and this slut bitch fakin like she don't take dick, fuck
Wanna run up in the post office and buck buck
fidduck waiting on these lines and I don't care if they rhyme neither
Homo rap divas get a head, they give head
like the church gives spoiled bread to niggas
or Smithers to Mr. Burns, word I yearn to keep it gutta
kicks smelling like churned butter from beating the pavement
Save your "Feliz Navidad" I remixed Kelis' joint
to let these broads know that I'm ballsy
So hold your nose and stay down there, these rounds fired at no particular target
new gear's a farce unless we coppin' from Target
and I'm in Merc's mom's crib rapping bout my dick, somehow that makes it better
This for my African cab drivers and Mexican battery saleswomen,
I'm tailspinning like Baloo, with no boohoos or caregivers
Word life, I'm kidnapping the next white toddler I see
cursing out his Caribbean nanny and slapping gay Dominican niggas named Manny, that's oxymoronic
like my first week of sobriety I'm sick without my chronic so there's no use in trying me
only slit wrists could retire me, so Càllate
or buy me an O'doul's or get these Jews to hire me
or wire me some Rubles
Hope that offends you more than billboards with white whores
and captions that read "I am African"
Lord please forgive em and forgive me, but I'm tired
of riding the pine while pumpin out rhymes at the speed that Johnny 5 reads
this part's easy, but we'll see how it goes
with you clicking download, while these niggas spitting Alpo
rap bitches brown nose, my eyes aint blue and my daughter's not Haley
I aint rhyming cute, see if these bitches is hearing me
This is F R U S T R A T I O N
on the cusp of making it, breaking the thumbs of Satan's grip
only to find ya shoelaces is
knotted together, but this is not Trip-Hop or whateva
new genre critics slipknot together
and try to choke it's life away
No tears, I've wiped away all fears, I'm wide awake
I'll sleep when I'm dead...