Yeah

Bring the drums in

Uh, yeah

A 1-2, yeah

Yeah, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Yeah, supposed to do

Check it out, uh

Listen

I'm in my flat flat broke, last smoke

The voice in the back of my mind sighs have hope

I have rope, I could end it all feelin' that

Local rapper found hanging from a ceiling fan

That would be the easy way out though

But what would that amount to apart from a outro?

It's not what I'm about yo, I'm never for shortcuts

And taking life is never right, that's something the lord does

Sortin' through these past dues, my choices led to bad moves

No soap in the bathroom, I don't want to hustle but I have to

Back to the drawing board

Zip locks stock up on what the clients want

I am taught but I won't listen

Self-destructive sort of like I wanna fail

But what I want to feel isn't what moves me

Why I grab a pen and stick the tip to this loose-leaf

It's desperate

So what the fuck are we supposed to do?

What the fuck are we supposed to do?

Don't even have a rope to hold on to

So what the fuck are we supposed to do? Come on

No way out for us to make that move

So what the fuck are we supposed to do?

What the fuck are we supposed to do?

Tell me what are we supposed to do?

While these motherfuckers pop bottles

I'm taking pop bottles back into the store so I can get some Top Ramen

What the fuck they know about that rock-bottom?

Everyone I know is feeling down-trodden

Everyone I know has thought about robbin'

I'm not talkin' 'bout a stick up, uh

I'm talkin' liftin' up that drawer before that afternoon pick-up

Shattering that tax bracket you sick of

On some get up, get out and get somethin' shit, come on

The mind wanders when you're poverty-stricken

And only hope you're holding on to is a lottery ticket

Yeah, bills piling up so don't see you smiling much

Start thinking of some violent stuff

Like umm, why the fuck don't I just get a pint of rum

A nine and tuck it between my teeth and say good-bye I'm done?

Economy is down and suicides are up

We rather die by a gun than let this world be the death of us

This world'll fuck you and expect you just to smile through it

Waking up is a reminder thinking why do it?

They wonder why these motherfuckers snap

One minute a family man until he's walking in that plant

And he's thinking, "Where the fuck's my overtime?"

Last resorts become solutions to a sober mind

An empty bottle list of fucking demands like

"Hey Joe, where you going with that gun in your hand?"

Yeah, feeling like there's one way out of this hole

Feel the weight of the world, sure hate feeling out of control

Either I'mma see the light or the light'll burn out

No mistake though it's never too late to turn around

Turnin' out to be a catch 2-2

Not a stretch for me to fetch the 2-2

I know that's a bit theatrical

But this poison is pungent, it's just so suspect

How much I've been avoiding the subject