Tired Lyrics

We can go, soul for soul, over mic control
Kid you can touch me with a ten foot pole
And I even made the devil sell me his jewels
He was out to cold mock me, and play you for fools
Kid, you know the rules, must be smoking (?two for booze?)
Try to dis me on the low, got to be a psycho
That's alright though, you know you won't see me shaking
I'm out to the blow the spot on who's real and who's faking
Who's giving, who's taking, who's living, who's starving
Dis me on the mic, it's time for headstone carving
And epitaph writing, I strike you like lightning
Dissolve you like powder, so turn it up louder
Go on, pump the wattage, get the cheese, buy a cottage
I like mean streets, I like Spanish freaks
I like Korean bar-be -que, I like old school beats
And I'm sick of all the s*** that's dropping
And I'm tired of all the lip that's popping
And all the wack attitudes people copping
I'm only tryin' to get a few heads bobbing

It go bang bang boogie, I'm sick like a loogie
I'm w(e)iser than Bud, I'm thicker than blood
I'm moldin' in time, moldin' from the divine
How could you be so bold, to think that you'll take mine
I'm Cash like Johnny, it's the highway man
And I'm walkin' this line the best way I can
With my farmer's tan and my bloodshot eyes
I ain't body no one, I ain't dropped no pies
With the mothers from the gutters
I'm 'bout to explode, and blow the spot
For now, but the gun, he'll roll
Like artillery shells, been from heaven to hell
And I'm say a little prayer for every rapper that fell
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Whitey Ford Sings the Blues (1998)