Y'all gotta come correct
So busy riding waves you can't see the docks closing
Y'all goin off the rail like seamen in an explosion
We edging closer to the end, the truth is bitter so they sugarcoat
But that's all for now, I'm outta here, on sail like an old boat

u make that bumpin music? yea baby im crumpin to it. that ass shake trunk thumpin music. plus I heard u mention a track meet, we should meet and make a track. Rapping so fast around you’d think we were racing laps

Monday night / Tuesday bars

chillin at the spot with vox, poppin pills bumpin lox, 40 filled up to the top dumpin glocks,

i aint racing laps
boy im just stating facts
best rapper on ktt i got the midas max

Best rapper?

B**** I’m a head cracker

One hit and u dead.. see u in the next life after

I took a s*** in olive garden today
saved someone choking on a breadstick feel like the fray

(only the first line is true)

this is extremely fun

next life after???
b**** i feel like im kane

i take my mask off

heavyweight any day

You feel like your Kane?
Hope you don’t think that I’m sane,
Cuz I’m leave u breathing through a mask for the rest of your life… GOT YOU FEELING LIKE YOUR BANE

b**** it’s a dark knight
u need to act right
anonymously posting on forums
aint the way to live life

Live life, not a Yankee but I got them pinstripes. Got mfs doing hits for me like I’m suge knight.. goodnight

even suge got caught up with a lil sum sum stop playin with me ur s*** sounding a lil redundundun

thank u bro

City by the sea
Whether the ocean or the letter
It could always be yo day, the Devil moving through whoever
Once upon a time, in the past not too distant
I see some funny niggas pulling up on Pacific
The light go emerald, as such does they fingers
So we cross each others paths
As that crossing light lingers
My head says “walk fast”, my ego says “walk slow”
“…demand with yo presence, let these sucka niggas know”
I swear on my momma I’ll cut a nigga swiftly
But I gotta stay wise, they got more firepower than me
In my heart I’m invincible, but over here it’s they streets
City by the sea
Whether the ocean or the letter
It could always be yo day, the Devil moving through whoever
Then they hit the U-ie on Cedar and 15th, I jetted past Washington, and somehow they passed me
Them niggas coulda blassed me
City by the sea
Whether the ocean or the letter
It could always be yo day, the Devil moving through whoever

first bar

Lmao

this crazy

eating cheesecake
feel like Im drake
im not candadian but ill leave syrup on your face

never been to cheesecake factory
I promise my d*** is satisfactory

I love all types of women but especially asian and latina
sometime feels like they cant see me, john cena

we could probably end up writing a great song for here

MFs snapping

We’re still here so they failed to knock us down
Where society lets us drown, we build a dam out of every single one they refuse to give
But let us not forget to live
Birthmark of a nation embroiled in the backs our kin
So let us not forget
Forgive each other’s sins
They’ve got enough sticks and stones of their own
We don’t need them thrown within
Leave them sticks at home
There’s enough small graves we’ve been digging in
Leave them black girls hearts alone
We owe to our mothers to be better men

A bag of grease sits passenger waxen from the blasting heat. Idle musings of satellite radio lend credence to the myth of brain destroying frequencies. This morning, like every other morning, the host is boiling over about some piece of content they have so willfully consumed. A doughy man in his 40s is scarfing down a burger for breakfast and getting secondhand outrage when his mind isn't completely slathered in secret sauce.

Vapor clouds the truck windows, water pining to be ice. John hates facing the early morning chill. It reminds him of serving. He had once thought that mail delivery was a noontime affair, maybe after an early lunch. He'd met the mailman at the Pinwicky Farms mailbox for a dozen years in a row before going off into the desert. 12 O'Clock on the dot rain or shine. The entire world not being Pinwicky was a brutal revelation for John.

After being discharged, he no longer met the mail person at the box while sporting the winning smile of a fool, but nostalgia kept noon on his mind. A cruel synchronicity had put visions of summer in his head, country drives down scenic roads dotted with bright red mailboxes. Another dream sheet. This crack of dawn letter hauling through stucco suburbs was not a communal experience and it sure as s*** was not summer.

You'd be surprised how cold the desert can get. When John remembers he crosses himself and thanks the heavens for trivial comforts: his truck, McDonalds heat lamps, infuriating quarterbacks- everything that keeps him warm. Culpepper should not be rolling out of the pocket with such a good line in front of him. That's just flash over fundamentals. The muscles and arteries in John's neck ungulate sending blood upward and processed starches down. He chases them with soda.

John crosses himself again. Anyone who's ever seen rectal feeding and gone on to enjoy another French fry would do the same. Eating MREs for every meal had been preferable, but discontent is all relative. As John sees it, anyone asking for less in this world has either never been deprived or is readying themselves to be martyred. John has seen actual martyrs, played hot potato with rebels from hell. Nobody envies the dead. Not up close.