[Verse One]
I'm like nine minutes away from finishing my nine hour shift
and wishin I was gone nine hours ago
Cause nine hours wasted, tossin back of this chicken
I coulda written nine verses just in time for the show
Slacker mindstate livin on time that's borrowed
My motto's I'll stop procrastinatin tomorrow
I took the sorrow from the windchimes, left happiness lonesome
And strung up sarcasm to make the melody wholesome
From my lungs to my feet, I'm breathin everything I speak
And now they chargin for oxygen and the bill's due next week
I'll be a day late and a buck short, story of my life
I wish my pay rate was much more, duckin swords in the rat race
I didn't apply for runnin towards something that's fake
And thinkin, why for? They shuttin doors right in my face
And sittin high horse is a car and a dope place
Somethin to die for, this is my war, so
[Chorus]
Now I'm schemin on plots to make my pockets swell
Simple livin is a bitch but damn, I do it well
Some are fortunate to make it and, some of 'em fail
Some locomotives push through and some of 'em get derailed
Schemin on plots - HEY, HEY
Simple livin is a bitch - HEY, HEY
Some are fortunate to make it - HEY, HEY
Some locomotors push through - HEY, HEY
[Verse Two]
I lead a crocodile mile lifestyle, I run and slide
But when it's time to collide with the bump, I always bail
Cause I'm not ready for that dive or that silly nine to five
Solidified career option, a hop skip and a leap
away from rock star, and not too far away from fillin pop's shoes
The idyllic hard workin type of calloused hands
Complete with wife, kids, dog, house, and picket fence, that's nonsense
I'm convinced I'm built for better things
And won't settle for the empty smile that cheddar brings
It seems like I'm workin hard simply cause it's what they say I have to do
You graduate and then you either get a job, or you go to school
12 years wasn't enough?
That's more than half of my life spent tryin to make the world accept me
Plus I've got the papers saying that I made it through
Now I'm working 2 jobs, 3 with music and you don't respect me?
Fuck it I'll retire now, you'll work until you're 62, and
[Chorus]
[whistling until beat stops] |
Printer Friendly Version
