When the day feels like it’ll never pass,
And you just woke up from the night last,
And feeling trapped like an arm in a tight cast,
And praying that the day will end like night mass,
Without a bad thing happening to fight past,
You never know how long things might last,
I take a step back to let all the hype blast,
I’m an old school producer that’s my type cast,
Groomed and cut like yard growing nice grass,
Rhymings meditative, makes my eyes glass,
If attacked I might strafe to the side fast, ->
Swimming through the business, how long will the tide last,
Explosive like a plumbing type pipe blast, ->
Cutting like a DJ scratching trying to fight rash,
Yo, This is a bright splash, ->
Bolder and fuller, like pulling off a nice (mous)stashe.
Get it!

Chorus

… I hit the studio to flip tracks,
I hear a dope beat can’t help but dip back,
Get me moving, I might just rip slacks, ->
Feet stomping heavily my floor might chip crack,
Ready to rhyme, listen to my lips smack,
A real scissorhead every time I clip facts,
Every line, tasty like a quick snack,->
I write rhymes in the cloud, can I have my Bic back?,
Words precious, nothing like a knick knack,
Spirit broken? Let the music fix that,
I make tracks fast kind of like a quick hack,
Buds blossom so no need to nip that,
I’m like a poet peeps snapping like a kit kat, ->
Words pouring out, can’t help but want to sip that,
Steal a cookie, might feel a wrist slap,
Unless I’m getting cookies in return like a kickback.
Gimme that??