Well isn't this grand, coming up on 21 years of age without ownership of anything holding actually value just some overly priced shoes. My closet resembles more of a boutique on clearance and my life is bout as close to a crackhead's wit out the crack; shit at least they get the high to subtract the pain. But I'm not bout to run around scratching and shit. You can't get no hoes looking like that. And yes i mean hoes. I don't want a lady right now; they always hurting my feelings plus i don't think i can sustain a feasible relationship with another being besides my dog. Ain't gotta take him no where but to the side of the house. I wish for his life at times. Sleep all day, food always free house, haircuts; sounds like the life to me. And as i sit here listening to drake's comeback season and watch my incorrect grammar and horrific spelling errors in notepad, i wonder what the fuck am I bout to do. School don't even seem like an option anymore.
How the fuck you live in a 3 story house but you car don't work for shit and if it did you aint got no money for gas to put it the rolling fuck box. I say this because thats all that really happened. You know if she aint have no room or nothing just got it rocking in the car. No heat tho; can't keep burning gas for a woman allowing herself to partake in such events in a vehicle with a dude she might like a week ago at the same party. I guess she liked my shoes enough to let me fuck. Or maybe its the little smudge of status i hold because of the little I do or who I know. But back to this absurd obstruction of time I call my life. Fuck it. In all sense of the word. I guess more like rape; cause I know what I want but it wont give it to me. I can't even do that much. How you suck at living your own life. And then i wonder do we all live these same events or is it just me in my dumbass position. Aspiring to be everything in life, started wit much more then the typical young black man and wasted it on nothing. Like I have nothing to show for this continuing enclosure to my death. They say i have a very morbid outlook on life. I think i just don't enjoy mines. And then it was because I was tryna to help everyone around get by in life but it wasn't a circular rotation. Its like I bought the weed, broke down, rolled up, let you light 1st cause you was stressed and you just got in your car locked the doors and hotbox
...by yourself.
Ain't nothing like thinking bout dying, wondering how its gonna happen. Several different way run thru my head. The latest one is death by promoter. Like these motherfuckers got superpowers or some shit. Throwing flyers to cut off my limbs. Or calling my phone so much i go mental insane from hearing the
ringer 24 hours of the day. Or like my facebook would implode on itself because of the constant pressure to go to a party that we know gon' be wack as fuck. So we go anyways to show face and somebody get they ass whoop and you go home talking bout that nigga drunk as shit to yourself in the rear view mirror. As if you gonna say some shit back to yourself. The funny thing about is you do. You have a whole argument. Why you ain't get that girl number bitch? Fuck you ain't dance with her? But you gon' talk to the bitch with the weave clip-on joint knowing damn well you not gonna wanna response to that morning text, but your to pussy not to text back. End up dating the broad for months. dipshit. As you conclude your evening out wit your drunken high friends that couldn't do shit but laugh at you cause for some odd reason, the ugly bitches just was in love wit you. Must have been the Micheal Jordan Cologne.
How the fuck you live in a 3 story house but you car don't work for shit and if it did you aint got no money for gas to put it the rolling fuck box. I say this because thats all that really happened. You know if she aint have no room or nothing just got it rocking in the car. No heat tho; can't keep burning gas for a woman allowing herself to partake in such events in a vehicle with a dude she might like a week ago at the same party. I guess she liked my shoes enough to let me fuck. Or maybe its the little smudge of status i hold because of the little I do or who I know. But back to this absurd obstruction of time I call my life. Fuck it. In all sense of the word. I guess more like rape; cause I know what I want but it wont give it to me. I can't even do that much. How you suck at living your own life. And then i wonder do we all live these same events or is it just me in my dumbass position. Aspiring to be everything in life, started wit much more then the typical young black man and wasted it on nothing. Like I have nothing to show for this continuing enclosure to my death. They say i have a very morbid outlook on life. I think i just don't enjoy mines. And then it was because I was tryna to help everyone around get by in life but it wasn't a circular rotation. Its like I bought the weed, broke down, rolled up, let you light 1st cause you was stressed and you just got in your car locked the doors and hotbox
...by yourself.
Ain't nothing like thinking bout dying, wondering how its gonna happen. Several different way run thru my head. The latest one is death by promoter. Like these motherfuckers got superpowers or some shit. Throwing flyers to cut off my limbs. Or calling my phone so much i go mental insane from hearing the
ringer 24 hours of the day. Or like my facebook would implode on itself because of the constant pressure to go to a party that we know gon' be wack as fuck. So we go anyways to show face and somebody get they ass whoop and you go home talking bout that nigga drunk as shit to yourself in the rear view mirror. As if you gonna say some shit back to yourself. The funny thing about is you do. You have a whole argument. Why you ain't get that girl number bitch? Fuck you ain't dance with her? But you gon' talk to the bitch with the weave clip-on joint knowing damn well you not gonna wanna response to that morning text, but your to pussy not to text back. End up dating the broad for months. dipshit. As you conclude your evening out wit your drunken high friends that couldn't do shit but laugh at you cause for some odd reason, the ugly bitches just was in love wit you. Must have been the Micheal Jordan Cologne.
