My intelligence is money

My skin is the streets of New York

My arms and legs are its fucked up bridges

The subways are the worms that come through my corpse

Liberty, my bitch, fucking everyone

They cut my two middle fingers down but my dick is still standing



I walked into Nasa, my pocket full of envelopes

And this chick swinging from my dick is into dope

Like hi-jackin with no planes, it's harmless

Way to shermed out to kick your fucking skull into your armpits

All found a dime, what's the worst that could happen

Cage got a knick for 8 millimeter action

No family man, even my daughter earning chasing after me with a fucking handy cam

Flippin while I'm holdin a jar, tell me if I'm going too far

Turn around I left some coke in the bar

Can't waste the range premise on this FBI-secretary with tits unless she's a menace

See the liquid kids and streams of five on her

This is the minds blotter, paper-savior dipped in high blotter

And I'm more patriotic with the narcotic wrapped in the little flag in the back ????



I ain't tryna train the sane, I'm playing the game

Like numbers scratched off a gun, they change your name

Chase the past and get the violence to spread

Got my arms in the dirt tryna silence the dead



Even when you win you lose in the end

So I take acid out of my back and use it again

Excuse me brother, why tap your spinal cord?

while open-mic emcees waste vinyl cords

??? for skin, your flesh is born from it

Empty the clip in your Toyota GS400

If you're too old to hustle, put the gun down, uncle

That's a nice vest with your head hangin from its last muscle

Go cop the album, keep me alive

And my functioning creative compartment will be downsized

Beyond demise, it's high maintenence

Looking for drugs with my hands crawling with agents

Biological, with the hands on my nostril

Can't get a vaccine with half the city in a hospital

All these doom-leaders, and their spoon-feeders

Can take the young, and let them lose leaders



I ain't tryna train the sane, I'm playing the game

Like numbers scratched off a gun - they change your name

Chase the past and get the violence to spread

Got my arms in the dirt tryna silence the dead