On the Daily

Gotta stop hittin' the 'Continue' button : 9, 8, 7, I ain't got 99 lives, I got 99 lines, 99 dimes to 9 to 5 dives.. when I'm high.. On the 'American Spirit' cigs, "East 1999 my ni**as!" Chiefin', on the fly.. Like a ball reachin' for the sky swervn behind true lines.. Foulin' out, then again, it connects onto tha next try.. Crack'd to centa-field, my cents yield and onto the next wise.. Move, Guy, the proof, be that I, fullproof and devise.. The fool's goof and despise, the lack of clarity, I might back-slap the stare in me.. More like tunnel of death, I keep it bare to the 'Being, and the next where will I seep in, no care for the weep'ins, toke hair of the weed n joy d.a.r.e or the deep end..To continue or not, it's your fair for the season, your 'where are the reason's?' Am I in despair, or are we in sync of the realm and the rhythm.. that we seem, to be seen in the scene that we're here on..