[Intro: E-Dot]
A little bit of blood, sweat, and tears. (OK!). A lot of love. And a whole lot of time, yo. Yo. Uh huh, uh huh. Y-yo
[Verse 1: E-Dot]
Yo, this is a lifetime’s journey
This rap shit is bad pussy, just aching to burn me
Fire future retained and I cop an attorney
And all he does is read contracts. “Listen, crackhead
Pick up the phone, get in touch with a contact”
Get a nigga on because my jam Beyond@t
Yeah, yeah. I rhyme, let nigga produce the tracks
Nourished by pizza slices, cheap ghetto snacks
Nigga, “Thirsty” written with hard-as-metal raps
My EP. Well, them critics gon’ say I slack
But them same muhfuckas got niggas fiending like crack
For good shit—I’m giving ‘em that
I’m that dope emcee, steady just giving ‘em dap
With a tongue. I’m fucking up these tracks, dog. Nigga well-
Hung. Got a lot of love, so get this real nigga
Some. Furnished by these chronic asthma lungs
I’ve been jeered, booed, pissed
Heard ‘em talking about me—motherfuckers are pissed
Receive my records staying up in the mix
When I’m chilling in the cut, like, “Shit
What kind of fuckboy is this?”
[Hook: Ill Bill]
My all is all I gots to give
I’d rather get shot in the wig than ever stop or quit
Fuck anybody that ever said we’re not the shit
Because the wit always keeping it popping, bitch
[Verse 2: Breez Evahflowin’]
Talk to the seeds in these parts of the woods
Swear up and down that it started with Puff and it started with Suge
Seeking for gains in the Garden of Goods
Thinking, “Man, I should have remained teaching art in the hood”
But you’re without proof. Drum tracks without loops
Niggas push jumb-cracks without loot? Not likely
This game will start fucking with your psyche
I found it hard for niggas not to like me, do shows and not invite me
But now the crown doesn’t entice me
Defending my craft until it knight me or knife me
Give it all I got like it’s wifey, bringing it home
Stress my peeps with the shit in my dome, put a beat to it
What else to do on your daughter’s birthday and you ain’t allowed to speak to her?
You tell me I’m not on the hustle day-in and day-out
My fucking freestyle seemed to be my only way out
I never promised it would ever pay out. Call it a hope
And a prayer before I’m snared by the call of the yoke
And I don’t know where it gonna go. Another combo
E-Dot, Breez, and Beyond on the long road
[Hook: Ill Bill] (x2)
My all is all I gots to give
I’d rather get shot in the wig than ever stop or quit
Fuck anybody that ever said we’re not the shit
Because the wit always keeping it popping, bitch
[Bridge: Loer Velocity]
So what the deal? What you saying, god?
[Verse 3: E-Dot]
On the real, I can’t call it
I look for schemes to get some papers in my wallet
So much, I want it. On the real, I can’t afford it
Go to work, wore my dad’s shirt, but then I sported
Went to university for five years, lordy
Left me with varieties of assorted
Debts and bounced checks, a future that looks horrid
Shit’s so real, the lion feel my courage
Music is our mind state, dog—remain a purist
Don’t judge myself. I judge who takes the art the furthest
Meditate to a wordsmith, written with a purpose
Peace to Casino, Junior, Curtis
Word. “Hey, hey, hey, E-Dot, work it”
Go to my job, a live performance in a circus
“Yo, Errol, think we got a short within our circuit
Tuck in your shirt, kid. See what you can do about it”
I’m thinking, “Fuck you!” I wish that I could shout it, but I can’t
‘Cause beats hasn’t paid off yet
And I cannot live with regrets, survive without my checks
Need financial independence—nigga, fuck collects
[Hook: Ill Bill] (x2)
My all is all I gots to give
I’d rather get shot in the wig than ever stop or quit
Fuck anybody that ever said we’re not the shit
Because the wit always keeping it popping, bitch
