Lyrics
Yo, how the days of your life go Com?
I'm just tryin' to be
That's it?
Stayin' focused so my mind is free
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now, it might be too soon
Too soon?
I want the boom in the back of the truck
Ain't nothin' the matter with a good dude havin' a buck
With that on my mind, I'm on the grind, it pays
We break it down in these three ways
Yo, these days I travel the Maze like Fred Beverley
To the East lookin' for pieces of a better me
Responsibility of my man's felony fell on me
Celebrity status, make 'em think I got celery
Hell and I do sometimes, still the sunshine ain't even all day
The life of a baller ain't even all play
I stack 'em, so the chips fall where they must
I ain't far from a Benz or dude on the bus
Even when I don't have enough, still in God I trust
Said baby you a star, said I'm on the cusp
Seen the jiggiest of stars become dust
And one love become lust for the papers
Had you gassed, now that gas became vapors
Tricked your cash on ice, shoulda had acres
Now your empire fell like the Lakers
So you're talkin' to your maker
It's the nature of the business, they givin' niggas inches
Takin' miles and mules, it's the wildest rules
I'm tryin' to walk in the blackest and the proudest shoes
Makin' music that the crowds can use
Yo, how the days of your life go Dave?
With sunshine and shades
That's it?
Tinted window, grades, and Kool-Aid
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now, that might be too soon
Too soon?
I want 24 plus on these
Put the Pinto engine and the bus on these
I get that first class seat to escape the days
We break it down in these three ways
Check the life, I got that antidote cantaloupe scent
Bent back in the sunroom froze, put your flick on pause
And pop a cork, it's no occasion nigga, it's just because
I'm celebratin' for a hell of a day
Get these barbie filets on hot charcoal tracks so black
Darko Pecoltrane plays in back
We them freedom fight kids who gon' ball and raise fists
If y'all down for the struggle, come on y'all, resist
Everyday script, I exercise cheek
Sixteen on the bar, I exercise speak
It's been a long time, Long Isle's on the map
While y'all stand on the corner stoned like Chris App
Kiss back, watch your time, wrist back
Every second count but just finish this lap
You gamble on your life like casino slots
I cash out and still walk with a knot
Yo, how the days of your life goes Murs?
Man, I'm just holdin' my head
That's it?
Shit, I'm also tryin' to hold this bread
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now, it may be too soon
Too soon?
I furnish the rooms and mortgage on these
See them quittin' ass rappers cause a shortage on these
The soul boys of big Illinois get the praise
We break it down in these three ways
My moms died from secondhand smoke
So I wish yo' ass would die from them secondhand rhymes you wrote
Or should I call them second rhymes written
Seconds 'fore you entered the booth?
Words thrown together with very little truth
And a select few can do it (True), you ain't part of them scriptures
And got the nerve to feel you want me out the picture
But I was never in it, I'm the frame around the flick
Or dishin' in the mouth while your dame around my dick
Ladies and gentlemen, introducin' Workmatic
One of L.I.'s finest and this is (My life)
Which is filled with bad minutes and good hours
And good months and bad years
And with my peers who struggle to juggle this shit
Family life and the music game don't easily fit
My lady wants me home
Sayin' rap tours breed rap whores and scores of scandal
And even more than we can handle
Sometimes with them rhymes I say, supply currency to save the day
Can't turn it away, 'cause we out
To find treasures way beyond our measure
So baby, don't pout
Don't pout, De La Soul, now turn it out
Don't pout, Common Sense'll turn it out
Don't pout