Sentimental

I'm kind of woozy, am I seeing alright?
In space, moving, grooving, shooting meteorites
Vision blurry, damn, can you chill with the lights?
I'm not the same guy I am in the evening or night
He's a fiend with the mic, but without it he's a nobody
The meaning of life? I wouldn't really know, buddy
He flows funny, his nose runny, his clothes bummy
People listen to him assuming that he can grow money
Was a chubby little kid, playing Yu-Gi-Oh
Little did they know that this tubby little dude could flow
Did taekwondo for four years, always ran on poor gears
Terrified of everything and too lazy to sort fears
Course steers in opposite directions
Had retracted back to path gaps and taught himself a lesson
The pen is the strongest of the weapons and I reckon
The suggestion of a wrecking if you're testing with your stepping
Late night sessions, mastering the craft
No half-assed tracks, put in everything he had
Mad knowledge to speak but no one would stop and listen
Talking is cheap, he spit it through his compositions
You should resist the hoopla, new laws to who's raw
Talking gats and pistols and he showed up with bazookas
Hoo-hah! Like sipping coffee in a nude bar
Different, MC's softer than Foofa
It's rude, huh? They say I rhyme for the sake of it
Saying I don't make any sense
I say art is what you make of it
You interpret it through your experience
And every time I grip this pencil, on every instrumental
Closer to my potential, got no time for sentimentals