Texty: Joe Budden. Ventilation.

Time goes by puffin on a lie, hopin that it gets me high
gotta nigga goin crazy, crazy

Niggas wanted to kill me, got locked up and never found me
So my goal is to catch a charge in that same county
Picture me gettin bumped for a silly hand off
The bullpens fucked up, just ask Willy Randolph
See, I could pop a few nickel-plated glocks too
It's easier to kill niggas than it is not too
I let the pot brew, then the plot grew
Labels try to label you, don't fit and they'll drop you
Finally made a move on somethin I been sore
Sometimes you gotta lose the fight if you tryin to win the war
I'm focused on tomorrow,
Done seein my friends in the rearview thinkin we really closer than we are
Fuck the record label, no relation or correlation
All my admiration turned into aggravation
They say- how you sit so long when you spew classics
I tell niggaz I can't understand it, that's Blue Magic
the rap game as-is, either you on some snap shit
or plain old stuck in a different decade like Da Brat is
I hear niggaz joints and take it personal, why?
Now everybody wanna rap about they personal lives
Before that it was non-existant
Me, I'm an addict with an addiction for anything that seems to cause friction
Maybe I'm in a relationship with bad karma
When I'm past the somber, maybe I attract drama
Undoubtedly my life is on some VH1 shit
Just addin some Salt N Pepa to reality
While other artists is obsessin with more toys
Like Lex coupes, Beamers and Benz's, they Lost Boyz
I kept brushin off my shoulder til the chip was gone
Left the Benz at the dealer til the kit was on
I don't feel niggaz songs
So while y'all at the awards, I'm loadin up on ratchets that's the TIP I'm on
Flow is on acid, swear I would have the game mastered
If I wasn't too busy carryin' baggage
Callin God a bastard,
Calvin looked way different in person than they had him lookin in his casket
Lookin in his casket like he had no face
I was at a loss for words like Fiascogate
So I figured I'd say a prayer for him, got on my knees quick
And realized I don't ever pray until I need shit
My soul achin, tryin to stay low maintenance
Stuck in hell waitin on blessings with no patience
I done made the ave hot, been hit, stabbed, shot
Waitin on my jackpot, always been a have-not
always been a underdog, little guy still try
Cuz I think I'm a cash cow, they treat me like I'm milked dry
Jugglin nickels and dimes, I'm walkin the fine line
Sometimes you gotta just breathe, maybe give time time
Give me a sign, kinda shocked he won't
See I want another baby, but my pocket's don't
Normally that wouldn't bother me

(Thanks to scrilla for these lyrics)