1. Sick of sitting and bitching and wishing someone would listen. I might be dreaming but I feel like I'm that one in a million. I've hit a ceiling, but still I keep finding a reason. I keep seeking whatever it is I feel like I'm needing. So pull the trigger on me... I figure I'm only quitting when they're digging my grave. Until then I'll be spitting. So if you're thinking: "behave, and start acting your actual age". I'm practically mapping the ways to laugh in your rational face. I'll be slamming the planet. Smashing the granite so hard that humanity panics. Hit you with a rhyme so enigmatic, You'll wonder if it was mine of God said I could have it. Hook: So will I blow? You never know! I've got the skill and the flow. So maybe fucking so. But whether I do, or whether I don't. I'll never be through. It's all about the glory, not the treasure trove. 2. There's no rule that I'm playing by, Listen right... How d'you make a wave if you're staying dry? And how d'you blaze a trail if you stay in line? I'm gonna take it by the tail, I'm gonna make it mine. I feel it tingle in my fucking bones. My itchy fingers are ringing, I'm in the fucking zone. It's simple really; quitting's for clones. I'll sit when I'm old, and shitting in a little commode. I'm taking every little bit that I'm owed, There's no shoulder as cold as your own, Knowing you've folded and no... I'm no closer to holding my goals. But fuck it, I'll shoulder the load longer than all of the drones. Watch me go! Hook: So will I blow? You never know! I've got the skill and the flow. So maybe fucking so. But whether I do, or whether I don't. I'll never be through. It's all about the glory, not the treasure trove. It's all about the glory... It's just all about the glory... 3. Witness this systematic attack on the English language, Don't panic, I may be manic, But I'm just releasing baggage by spitting at it. A sick habit, so give me a bic, pass the pad and... I'll rip it, add it to all of the hits I've been planning. The bigger the dream, the richer the prize, And mine's as big and as wide as the sea and the sky combined. I guarantee that a mind as quick and as primed as mine, Can stick this lyrical arithmetic, Pick syllables difficult to fit, And stick 'em in and fill a motherfucking bar with it, Still I'm on a par with any artist I target so sit. Lemme take a minute to kill a bit. I won't be quitting, I'm gritting my teeth, How can I quit when I keep dreaming? I spit in my sleep even!

I wasn't raised, I was dragged up, And I was flagged up early as a bad pup, And I was hardly wild but was a problem child, And that's sad cause, I had a lot of good to give. And what's the use of giving up the ghost when it haunts you still? But I've got the same demons eating at my soul that made my mother and father ill. Bullied, fat, worried and laughed at. That was school and fucking that was that, But they taught me how to be a loner, Spent my days just locked away inside this cranium, Getting brainier than 'em, And saving all my talents up to rain on 'em, Cause I was mad at them, and sad for them, But glad I had the balls to step away from them. Caveats walled me, habits formed, Telling me I was no good, forming a wire in the blood, Saying I can't when I could, fuck it I can and I should. Maybe I'm as crazy as they tell me, Maybe they're just scared and I'm misunderstood. Maybe they're just hurting, yearning for a curtain call to bring and end to victimhood. Maybe trying would. I should write a hook. And maybe I should give a fuck, About selling this shit to the mass but look; I wanna spit bars til the fucking beat is up, And I do what I wanna, When I wanna, Gonna put you through the runner, gonna spit bombs, I'm a gunner. Hit you with a rhyme like a Stone Cold Stunner. Cause you're a Wile E. Coyote and I'm a Road Runner. Oh well, I'm going to hell, So I'm going to sell my soul to the highest bidder. Gonna be a winner one way or another. Gonna force into your ears and make you shudder. Gonna make this track crack, Hit you in the heart first, then in the nut sack. Or obviously the cunt crack, if you're a chick. Knack for writing a rhyme with a meaningful kick. Knack for taking the time to make it fucking slick. Just coming into my prime and now I'm swinging my dick. Flow so well it's a crime, and I'ma make you sick. And I'm a lyrical mastermind and yeah, uh, I'm also a a prick. Prick, prick, prick, prick, prick... But soon I'll have you choking right up on this dick, dick, dick, dick ,dick. Metaphorically sure, cause that's no appropriate recourse for someone in his thirties, But you wanted it, there it's yours. I'll say anything to get signed, I might even open up this fucking mind, Pandora's gonna see another kind of machinating out of me and she'll be blind, Her fate resigned, the moment that she finds the things she didn't fucking wanna find. These terrible things that spring to mind, Dark and now assigned, finally refined. Like: Hope you die if you cross me. Hope your family flies to a country rife with something deadly and your mother sucks off every local bloke until she starts to choke. And then says "Holy shit son, I just made a whole new kind of AIDS. I'll be dead in just a matter of days and my one regret is you." Holy shit, this kid. What the hell is fucking wrong with him? What the fuck is going off inside his block? Well... How long have you got? They told me I'm psychotic. So they gave me these pills that went and made me turn all fucking robotic. So I flipped 'em the finger and threw the pills in the bin and just said I was still on 'em. I mean...erm... I'm totally taking 'em still, please... take that as ironic. I'm not saying stop taking your meds, far from it cause, Meds solve everything! From a tumor to an innocent grin, So take your medicine in, and try to fit in, Forget about the person that you could've been. Bye!

1. I wish I was different, Just maybe less of a prick. I'm near hitting the end of my wick. I'm bi-polar, I'm sick. I've been to hospital, therapy, I've been prodded and picked. I took the pills but nothing'll stick. I'm still fighting a battle within. Not that I can win. But I can stave off a defeat by simply raising my chin, Trying again, making my songs, weaving it in, And writing the wrongs with a pen. Life can be a bag of dicks that you've just gotta suck. Sometimes I haven't got the energy to move and get up. Look, I'll level with ya; life can be good. But I've been stuck in this reality where everything's fucked. And though they all acknowledge it, they're all the same. They expect me to act as though I've got a functioning brain. I'm not normal at all, I'm probably not even technically sane. That's what they told me when they locked me away in a cage. 2. I've got a child now, I hope he gets it in his head. His father gets a little sad and has to go to bed. It's nothing son, it doesn't mean I love you any less, But I'm under stress, Everything's a fucking mess, let me rest. I feel bad: Like I'm crap at my job, like a shitty kinda father, Fucking fat little nob. I'm losing the plot! Cause they're the vile thoughts that I've got. I get 'em alot. I wish it would stop, but will it? Probably not. But even in the darkest times, I've got my book of rhymes. I make art and that'll get me through the stormy nights. I take the horrors and I make 'em into story lines. And then I spit 'em til the dawn arrives. And in the light of yet another day, I see that life is just a funny little game we play. Look at it another way: Maybe focus on the other days, Ones that make you wanna say: "fuck the pain, I'm here to stay!" So in a way it's not a burden, it's a little gift. I hope the words'll give another just a little lift. Let 'em know they're not alone with all the bitter shit. Never quit! Life is only worth it when you're living it. You're not what you think that you are. You are worthy of love; you're much more than the sum of the parts. And those scars that'll riddle your numb little heart. That's what makes you individual, They're part of your charm.

1. Your thoughts are making you ill. You probably know it but of course you're thinking them still. You get addicted to the cause, it gives you a thrill. Pause... Life can be yours, All's you do is to choose more and focus your will. You make the walls of your cell, The person you are is just a little story you tell. And you tell it so well it becomes real, but you can rebel. Peel the layers away, wake from under the spell. You've got the power to change, we all do, And it takes a pretty powerful brain but it's true. You put the hours, your mind starts working for you. You know the shit that you've been saying that you couldn't do? Like get off the gear that's dragging you down, Or conquer your fear, or even just to live in the now. You can do it but you have to allow it, It's your chronicle so promise that you'll make it a vow and it's yours! Look inside for the help. Cause your environment is sapping your health. You can play the shitty hand you were dealt, Or you can say this is the day I take control of myself. It's your choice! Hook: I've been working monday to sunday. I swear I'ma make it some day. And this is for when I do. This one's for victory, oh. This one's for victory, victory. This one's for victory, oh. This one's for victory! 2. So in a trance, time passes you by at a glance. Life's a hassle, just bland, but if I can be frank, You should give yourself a fighting chance, You're just in a dance with the feeling you'll never advance and you can! Live, and live presently. You're not defined by something that's in your memory. Cause life is now, so why you wasting your energy? It's every moment you breathe, Just hold it and be, it's heavenly! We only exist in the now, And this'll be how you'll gather your wits and you'll figure out. Cause if you allow, you'll take your problems and you'll whittle 'em down. No sliver of doubt, you'll cast 'em out! And you'll see you'll unburden your back. When you're living in lack hurdles that litter that track seem to stack. But there's a knack to it, You can in fact do it, Your counter-attack's due in the moment you act. So have a vision, And see everything coming that you were wishing for, that and more. See it better than anything that you saw before, On a collision course, right to the front of your door! "Remember what got you here. Focus on the fundamentals we've gone over time and time again. And most important: don't get caught up thinking about winning or losing this game. If you put your effort and concentration into playing to your potential, To be the best that you can be, I don't care what the scoreboard says at the end of the game... In my book, we're gonna be winners!"

1. Son... Know that your father was scared to bring you into this world. You were hurled from nothing into the arms of the unprepared. I never knew that I'd care quite as much as I do. Cause you, I saw your face and I knew, That you were the light at the end of the tunnel that I'd been crawling through. You were sent to pull me back from the ledge that I'd been creeping and falling and helplessly getting ever closer to. I just can't find the words, To do you justice. This verse just isn't enough, But it's worse to say nothing cause my heart is so full it could burst. I'm submersed in this feeling I'll never reverse. So first, let me welcome you son. You hit your dad like a tonne, But you lifted the weight off his chest when you come. Got him straight in the heart, Never known greater love. Welcome home, it's a start, Now's your time in the sun. 2. I saw you come from your mother, I saw the physical pain that she suffered was great, Like something biblical. Physically drained, she strained, And you were visible. In that clinical place, You were a miracle. You are the pinnacle of everything I've achieved, And I believe ever can. You made a man from a boy without a trace of a plan. A tale that's older than time from when it first began. I look at you and I see my heart in your hands, Careful son... Cause the sands of time have weathered it good, But with fatherhood, it beats for you as only it could, It's like it was made of wood, And suddenly now it's filling with blood. And I'm alive for the first time, Trying to fit the feeling into a line and make it rhyme. You are mine, I am yours, Until the end of time and space. I stare at your face, And know that I am finally in a better place. 3. So Harrison... Listen the words that I write, In spite of the dark I've suffered, you made everything bright. You put air in my lungs and you've given me sight. You scared the shadows away, It's like ethereal light has banished night. It's like I'm high as a kite. I might cry, I'm excited for life. You've set a fire in my soul and I'll let it ignite the inside of me and guide me, Son, I'm finally whole. I can say for a fact I'll extol you til they put me into the ground! This love is profound, surrounding me now. And my capacity to feel it compounds, With every minute that passes, Ever sight, every sound that you make. I think of what it would take to separate us. There's not enough Earth, there ain't enough acres to keep us apart. The gift that you gave us, it made us, Son, I love you from the depth of my heart.

1. You've got 'em hanging off your every line. Heavily blind to every sign, That all your rhymes are fucking asinine. I found you borderline dangerous, You're poisoning minds, With all your "smack a bitch, make the paper, drink and get high". Cause the kids, they just believe you when you're on the TV. They're young and naive and you're what they see. You've got a certain degree of responsibility, At least to be a role model, You're what they aspire to be. You don't give a fuck. You say it enough, Tell 'em you got tricks on your dick and cupping your nuts. You're morally sick, And even though you're probably fucking kids up, They buy into the shit you're slinging cause they play it in clubs. Mumbling pricks, I'm sick of your shit when it slips out of your mumbling lips. You're reading from a dumb little script. Drugs, bitches and money and that's all that it is. The game's run into the ground, But I come with a fix. Stop putting value on profit and gain, And use your god-given brain, To go against the fucking grain. Cause all the pricks are fucking spitting like one and the same. Vain sociopathic cunts without a morsel of shame. 2. Fuck learning the ways of the art. I'm certain you're smart, So why d'you have to tear the fucking genre apart. You don't look inward to deliver the words from your heart. You just spit about your women and cars, Pretending you're hard. But you're not, you're not real, you're a brand. You're not even nearly a gangster, you're barely a man. You're just a boy with a microphone, Who's playing at rap. And aiming it at the kids who got restrained in the trap. But really all that you are is a marketing trick. A carcass to pick for kids who'd rather be rich. And have money and drugs, and call a woman a bitch. And you were the dick that got 'em started thinking like this! It's all a cry for the attention you crave, I mention on names, But every 'lil prick is the same (Wayne)... "I'm special, I'm great, no question I'm running the game, Got money and fame, just wish I had something to say". 3. It's all about the party I guess. And your rhymes are all about how fucking smartly you're dressed. You should be using the art to get your shit off your chest. But you can't, so in your heart I think you're probably depressed. Brains all scrambled from the coke and the weed. There's a legion of children hanging on, You've been chosen to lead. And all you've shown 'em is bogus, But know you've planted a seed. These kids are hopelessly broken because of you and your breed.