Songtexte: Oncue. Friends.

:
[Hook:]
I can see through your bullshit
Running in the air, and I don't really care (cause)
All I need...

Is real people, and real music and real people
And no I don't want new friends
Cause I don't wanna feel like I have to pretend
(It's all I need)
Is real people, and real music and real people

Sorry this ain't back pack, Sorry this ain't frat rap
This might seem abstract
All I got are sick lines it's Anthrax on amtrak
We about win I said
Where the fuck those hands at?
Your girl and friends?
I don't know what do with em
No one taken our lane
See we Drivin drunk taken up two of em
I didn't move to Brooklyn to be a hipster
I moved to Brooklyn to see the big the picture
It's only when you leave, that's when they wanna miss ya
But when your there for 'em, all they wanna do is diss ya
And never call you again, if you don't deliver
So let's sip the elixir
Call the waitress over and tip her
Don't hit me on twitter
When you see me getting bigger
I don't any friends,
All I want are those figures
See the thing is, they all just imitating
But down the road their Fuckin themselves,
It's masturbation
They ain't real, they ain't real - see It's only entertainment
They ain't in the streets
If they're backs laying on the pavement
Talkin shit, it ain't me - But I do it on occasion
Cockin back and I'm aiming At all y'all who's lamin
Claimin fame goin down the drain
Man, You ain't shit
You a dame, only a stain see I'm the shit

They say Geoffrey, Cuey OnCue
You smooth as a silk
Meanwhile drinkin black coffee
Cause I can't afford no milk
They shootin, don't sweat it
Your a pimp
But the only thing In my pockets
Is empty wrappers and some lint
Nah... she couldn't do it
Neither could she
Neither could this jager
Neither could this weed
Every weekend I'd rage
Wake up monday morning
Face minimum wage
Shit I need to get paid
Last night I got laid
But what did it do for me?
Except, I don't gotta go to youporn this morning
I'm torn in between tourin
And dormin... sourin... to the top
My dad always said shit or get off pot!
This whole time I wasn't bitin'
I was writin for the enlightened
So when you smell my shit, is when I'm a start wipin

Can you tell these other rappers
I'm a fuck the game backwards
Go head pigeon hole me
Homie you don't even know me
You ain't competition you a cronie
Of a bum, mama look what I've become
They googlin me like addicts, look at your son!
So stop with the comparisons
Don't know
Look Sarah Palin an
I realized these rappers suck they own dick
Manson, Marilyn
Your girls doing my work at the Sheridan
Nah I ain't trying to be arrogant
I got soul in me, it's been apparent since
They wanna buy me out like Merrill Lynch
Nah I ain't forfitting a some flowers and a coffin in a hurst
Would be more fitting than that white collar ball licking
Wake up and look at the life we're all living
You can't trust no one
Any more than you could throw em
Watch me Crash down then I'm a move up on the totem
Nah I don't know 'em you sure you told'em
Yeah homie I told'em