Morris

[Verse 1]
Life won't let you be no Indian giver
And I say that just to tell you that
You never get the present back
Hope you use your intellect
Hope you don't spend it selling crack
Hope you ain't up on the Internet
Typing up what you won't never speak out
Hoping to get respect
It don't work like that
If it do we should get a check
Some rappers work like that and them niggas be getting checks
I'm interjecting, I hope they feel disrespected
I saw they vid, and I rather my cable be disconnected
Hard drive to the game I'm saving
Whole life been hard like pavement
Trying to be 24 years old with a little stock and a nice house, no payment
Trying to be the one song that'll that touch your soul if there ain't nothing on your playlist
Trying to win in this game don't hate the player homie you Skip Bayless
In this game they said it was hard to blow but homie you sure as don't get comfortable with no record deal
I be comfortable as the florist man
Not too many know Morris, man
Not too many know Morris
Those that do know here be him and say that he needs a grave and a florist
Chorus

[Verse 2]
God been doing surgery on me, no anesthesia though
Feeling every little thing but pain is what we need to grow
So I know when he stitch me back, a nigga might be breathing slow
But I never be fronting for any type of reason though
That's why new money go so well with a old soul
Won't be splurging, impressing other niggas old hoes
Or changing up like niggas used to try their freshman year
New opportunities, won't never fill no old holes
You still who you was; money won't change that there
Some of the lamest niggas that I met was millionares
Thinking that they could buy some heart nobody real in here
Really, what's worse is you believe 'em; ain't no feelings here
So I packed up all my things: my notebook, a thesaurus
Moved up to a king-like mind state; left all the doubts in my storage homie
Not too many know Morris
Not too many know Morris
Those that do know here be him until he need a grave and a florist
Chorus

[Verse 3]
I mean, I never want to be one of those artists feeling empty; buy a chain to flaunt it
Telling it can change the world; I'm thinking about adding diamonds on it
Even though I feel rewarded, I know that I can't afford it
Don't change the fact that I bought it; don't pay my taxes they audit, though
Now what's important is only what gets imported
Used to reveal my memories; touch my soul, I record it
How I get to the point, I became what I would despise
Hear the voice in the back of my mind; I don't be trying to ignore it
But that money, that fame, that dream, made the voice of God so distorted
Harder to hear my purpose with that Murcielago horses
Right next to me plus these Porsches
These women beautiful, gorgeous
They hotter than flaming torches
I'm trying my best I promise but competing with all these forces
Life lesson and torture
Want to graduate from my past but almost too scared for new courses
Not too many know Morris
Not too many know Morris
Those that do know here be him until he need a grave and a florist
Chorus

[Outro]
If my favorite artist asked me, "What you want: a car or house?"
Hold that; just give me the inspiration you had starting out
Cause all my favorites losing it; I wonder what that's all about
Hoping that the paper you touch souls, that's worth more than all your accounts
And thats real, yeah and that's real
My nigga
That's real
For real
Some of the music that you made helped us wash away the pain
And that's real