I let the beat come in so can I commit a sin again,
With my friends, asking does this madness really ever end?
It’s cyclical, repetitive and cynical,
I’m a loser lost in the place where winners go,
Like a maze, without an exit in sight,
These type of thoughts keep me awake every night,
I can’t get an ounce of sleep, so I get a gram of dro,
And that keeps me problem free for an hour or so,
I know it’s wrong, sort of physiological dependency,
I struggle, feeling like the weight of the world’s been set on me,
I’m disassociated until I get a beat to slay, because
Writing helps me find just right where my place is,
If not, I get wasted, a drunk punk, faceless,
I know I’ve got a problem, but i’m too scared to face it..