Small Disasters

Good morning heartache, it's a pleasure to meet you

I said staring in the mirror in search of weakness

Shit am I the loose link? Madam Medus ink?

Pace movin' slower than a statue frozen

Starving artist, more like hostage

Easily composed in mail and poastage

Mailbox empty though, no respondents

Chasin' condiments, I need to ketchup

Beats are bangin, but ain't no bangin' back

Sorry Charlie, no gold ticket

Cricket, cricket

Sound bites are hunger

Put so much work in, but ain't no work out

And ain't no ringtone in lonely doubt's ears

It's lonely out here, phony out here

Like T.I. (You don't know me) out here

A smidgen of set-back sets in

For weeks we wore the game face travellin' place to place

Conventions (seminars) talent shows near and far

Travelled the South to let them know the name

Out they mouth shout a ghost of Ichabod Crane

Yo, could it be that we ain't good D?

Nah, they just hatin' (Or really ain't relatin')

Feelin' a little homesick, rather be at home with

Them corner boys talkin' that everyday home shit

But when at the crib, anxiety sets in

I didn't set a "Plan B", understand me?

We need to get a hold on "Plan A"

'Cause I'm not tryin' to live on minimum pay

(This shit is takin' too long yo) Yeah, I told you bro

The old man's at the crib like, "I told you so"

And mom's still prayin', I hope she ask God to

Open them doors to the game so we can get the play in

The second act curtains almost by nature

The wage is mental, bettin' this won't happen

Change in the caption is not for captain

Neither co-pilot, the colder silent

And in creeps Miss Doubt-fire's comfort

Tits danglin' in front of, tanglin' my thoughts

Departs from confines of my confidence

Broken egos, small disasters

Even in plaster, limbs will not heal

I'm armin' myself, charming I self

Lord and Master, show me a sign

Not for nothin' Lord, show me

Wasn't it good with that Spalding

But excellent with the golf clubs

Scream, "Woah!"

Smash the window to the car door

(Reach in) Grab, sprint back to the lab

You would think I didn't have any sense

But my sense of worth was still growin', so was my dreams

Of being kids from Queens beings managed by Lyor Cohen

And Russell Rush (Rick Rubin doin' them beats)

A month later on stage with Adidas on my feet

But right now worry's on my mind

I'm still gon' climb (not stoppin') if the beats stop rockin'

I'll beat hand and fist with skills on the table

Hello?

****! Kindoo said we got the deal with the label, B!

What!?

My word!

Don't fuck with me man, you playin'!

Nah, I'm not playin', you playin'!

****, I'm goin' shoppin'

We on Goon Time, bitch!

See you at the mall