Produced by Walter Kronkite. Additional production by JubbyFUK for Fuk Wit It Productions.
lyrics
(Verse 1)
I find myself through a bottle and amphetamines/ Zoned out, closed up, anticipating weathering/ Son, it's Stephen, can we speak about redemption?/ I'm on pins and needles, frozen in suspension/ Backyard, Victoria, working on a cigar/ Pen in my hand, man, devising up my next bar/ Out and about, they asking 'bout my head scar/ Others, bout my music, ask if I'm the next star/ D's in the basement, mixing up the medicine/ I'm on a stage, loud, bitching like a reverend/ 'Till the next club, politicking like a candidate/ Bandit's in the back room, playin' with a mandolin/ Plotting out the next move, area we canvasing/ Tryin' for some net worth, scheming on the back end/ Take turns on the soapbox, speakin' on our hate of/ The puppets on the radio and how they try and play us.../
(Hook)
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...Oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
Why so simple?! Why so simple?!
Oh...oh!
Why so fickle?! Why so fickle?!
(Verse 2)
It’s a cold world, so you better bundle up/ No socks, no shoes, no Daddy Warbucks/ Took shit promised to the center of the heart/ Being told the game’s over before I start/ That shit hit you like bricks if you ain’t ready/
I want to make it rain, surprise, no confetti/ I’m racing for the money like my name is Andretti/ And my lines stay heavy, smooth like I’m riding Chevy/ Hands stay steady, right on track, never leftie/ The rest are going backwards like Go!, set, ready/ Just really know how hard I want to /And I’ll do anything besides sell my / And I can put it on life, you count on / Like I put on for Hip Hop, instead of rap/ And I guess that’s why all the others are wack/ I’m fact, they fiction as a matter a fact/
*Repeat Hook*
(Verse 3)
/Now...Look at the doggy in the window/
/Another cute mutt that's impeding on your kinfolk/
/Singing along to hoes and endo/
/Wonderin' why in the hell should I sit for?/
/I said "Shit, ask Rosa"/ Or any other pioneer or dope composer/ They say "Naw Son, spark that doulja"/ "Write another joint that ride for me and my soldiers"/ I respond with "Read a book son, find some composure"/ "Learn about culture and looking for closure"/ Told me I'm a a square, "We can't bop to this"/ "Man, shorty won't rock or gimme wop to this"/ "My box in the back won't knock to this"/ "Man Crock, no offense, but this a crock of shit"/ I said "Son there's more than being on the block with chips"/ They say you piss in the wind, but can't stop the rich/
credits
from Catharsis,
released May 22, 2012
T. Crocker, Jr., C. Diamond, J. Mathis
An honest, polite, riveting emcee that's smart, earnest, and at times sarcastic. Listening to Ghani, you'll wonder to yourself if he really means it or if he's just punking you. Highly recommended. Crocker