Lost

[Intro]
Yo, party people in the place to be. Yo, this is Cool Calm Pete. I'mma do this in G minor

[Verse 1]
It go: lost in the season. Running out of choices
Hard to cope with these lingering voices
It's hopeless—I got problems with authority
It's like the moral of the story is calling me
With silly pranks like "You ain’t gonna win, kid
This game is bugged—these kids done jinxed it"
Fix these plans. I got hopes and dreams, son
Rolling downhill and the year has just begun
I seen America lonely with its dick hard
Hello. Wrote this on the back of a greeting card
From this bleeding heart dripping down a bitter start
It's these lessons you learn from that time apart
Pull my guns out, shooting at the TV
So medicated, man, I damn missed the TV
But news is syndicated—go catch the repeats
No place to hide. Run amok in the streets

[Hook]
Lost in the city, running out of choices
Going nowhere fast, still hearing voices
Come on, legs. Come on feet
I’m just tryna make a little bit of history

[Verse 2]
It’s like you write with a sharpie and you made a fine point
Not all city—you hitting up the 5 Pointz
Jonesing for another attack next wave
You're fake stunts that’s strictly for super Dave
Sun don’t shine. Now kiss the ass cheeks
These cats keep testing, lost their cheat sheets
If you’ve got questions, then you must ask Pete
The antidote over these working-class beats
Woke up in the P.M. The face is all crusty
My feet cold. Even the kicks are dusty
I’m snowed in. I plowed through these negatives
It's such a pain when the bullshit's repetitive
So why bother even taking these next steps?
Even yesterday is harder to recollect
Muster it up and step out of the house
Take a little trip and start turning it out

[Hook]
Lost in the city, running out of choices
Going nowhere fast, still hearing voices
Come on, legs. Come on feet
I’m just tryna make a little bit of history

[Verse 3]
I’m home sick, rocking a New York logo
It's only been a week and you ain’t made no dough (Oh)
Well that blows and these are the breaks
A tall order of beef is high stakes
This is dedicated to the ones who think they getting old
Since childhood, they’ve been calling you an old soul
Now bop that head—it's hip hop irony
For twenty-some odd years probably
Acting the same way—ain’t nothing really change
Maybe that internet and new heads to blame
Glimpse of the future making these toes curl
And maybe then I'll stop spying on my ex-girl
In this world, famous to nameless
None of it is easy and none of it is painless
Weightless on the moon, watching the Earth turn (Turn)
Time on your side and got money to burn (Burn)
Got a new watch and got heat in the house
Got rhymes, got beats, no kids, no spouse
And I'mma turn it out
Yo, it's my turn baby. I'mma turn it out
Yo, it's my turn baby. I'mma turn it out
Yo, it's my turn baby. I'mma turn it out
Yo, it's my turn baby. I'mma turn it out
Yo, it's my turn baby. I'mma turn it out