More Credit

Feeling breezy right now like
Fucking with a nigga like myself you learn fear
The bird’s gears turn the record but in less the, heh
You like that, something like that
Fucking with a nigga like myself you learn
I get more credit
I get more credit
I get more credit than I, I deserve
More credit I get
More credit I get
More credit than I, I deserve

The life and times of a liberal nigga
Too conservative to play political figure
Which ya, I see a bigger picture
Now that I zoomed out
They saw trails, like they were shroomed out
Open mind, open hearts
We playing with precision
Like we throwing darts
I show these scars
When it’s convenient
Spitting that dough
When it’s intravenous
To get ya leaning, like a damn junkie
Spending your cash money on chronic and brass monkey
I’m half man, half ugly
Eternally lost boy that’s been out of the damn country
On tour, freestyling for too long is an encore
Asking my interpreter to tell them girls that I’m not sure
In their native tongue, but then they end up on the top floor
That sweet and shame on us, somebody spilt the guardian angel dust
Life’s a bitch, I’ll kiss her lips when their cankerous
I’m feeling old and cantankerous
My minds a box cutter, my words are just razor rust
Hold up - hold up - hold up - hold up
Save the debates and such
That will get us nowhere, man
I’d rather take the bus
Than let that bitch ride me even though she betrayed my trust
Wait, that sounded (?)
That sounded Drake, give me a minute to make it up
My mind’s money green, my heart is gun metal grey
I guess it only makes sense if you come from LA
Haters talk crap but it doesn’t really hurt Nos
There’s no point to it like hitting seven on the first throw
Cause men lie, women lie and numbers can be tampered with
A ten and a half hour flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles
Or a twenty minute drive to a bar where I rarely go
And end up three fingers deep in some whore that I barely know
I shouldn't talk like that, cause I’m married bro
What goes around comes around like a merry-go
But is it cheating if she already knows
Its mano a mano; I’m taking Santos’ teeth and stereo
Yea, that’s what I call high fidelity
I piss excellence and write illegibly
I share cigarettes with high celebrities
In low society, we live fast and die eventually
Fucking scenesters make me sick
They lack faith in imagination like an atheist
Anything is possible, I've seen successful gangster rappers with no street cred and no obstacles that where as soft as baby shit
My dad sold American cars, true
My mother used to work in HR, also true
So why can a simple team sell you a couples dreams and speak a little Japanese

I get more credit, I get
More credit, I get
More credit than I, I deserve