Issues

Drill rap, Electro, Vaporwave, Death rap, unorthodox hip hop, experimental hip hop, cloud rap

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V4.5

I been broke, lil baby, I ain’t trippin’, I adapt,
Stretchin’ dollars in the pocket, sprinkle weed in the wrap.
Flippin’ couch cushion change, that’s a broke-boy flex,
Still laughin’ in the kitchen with the last roach I had left.
Funny money, pocket lint, weed crumbs on my jeans,
Hittin’ the plug with a smile, he frontin’ me the green.
Ain’t no idols on my wall, just a calendar late,
And a jar full of keef that I’m savin’ for the shake.
Talk slick? Ha, I’ma still gettin’ respect,
Even if I’m buyin’ loosies with a government check.
You got idols? Cool. I got a busted lighter,
But I’m still sparkin’ it up, and my flow hittin’ tighter.

Look, I been down bad, but the spirit stayin’ up,
Rollin’ stress in a blunt, let it burn in the cup.
Life heavy on my chest, but I’m light in my brain,
Roll it up, light again, feelin’ it cover the pain.
Bills pilin’ high, I been dodgin’ collectors,
But the smoke screen thick, I’m a spiritual vibe protector.
Mama said money ain’t growin’ on trees,
But I found somethin’ that grow, keep me feelin’ at ease, high like a flyin’ trapeze.
Get Every Dollar hustle, learned the street math quick,
Playin’ the Lute while gainin’ loot,
Stretchin’ a dime to a twenty, that’s a survival trick.
Broke but I’m laughin’, man, the struggle done made me,
Got a spliff in my hand, ain’t shit gonna break me.

Empty fridge (fridge), ashtray full (full),
Weed man call, I’ma scrape that bowl (bowl).
Chain don’t swing, I ain’t got one, bro (bro),
But I still talk shit when the blunt gets smoked (roll it).
Broke boy, broke boy, high on fumes,
Smoke cloud thick, fill up the room.
Pass that back, don’t kill my mood,
Couch locked down but the vibe still smooth.

Light that blunt up quick,
World flip, my bitch trippin’ but the cannabis stick.
Can’t quit, smoke thick, inhalin’ big hits,
Even broke, I’m still rich with a fat-ass spliff.

Check-to-check, neck stiff, stress on deck,
I ain’t got no ice, just a bounced paycheck.
Rent man callin’, I don’t even text back,
Hide behind smoke like a broke man jetpack.
Hungry in the stomach, but my lungs stay fed,
Every toke fill me up when the cupboard’s dead.
Rum mixed with Coke, unemployment benefits extend,
Rappin’ like I’m runnin’ from the bill collector’s debt.

I’m a broke boy stoner,
Cough so hard, neighbors call the coroner.
Roll so long, call it marijuana marathon,
Sofa my throne, can’t move, I carry on.

Chop it up, chop it up, words overlap,
Even when I’m broke, still spittin’ the rap.
Smoke stack higher than the dreams I chase,
Lungs on fire, but I’m keepin’ the pace.

I’ma pot-twistin’ soldier,
Ain’t seen a day sober since last October.
Weight on my shoulders, but I keep my composure,
Broke boy anthem, real-life rollercoaster.
Don’t have to think, it’s all instinct,
Brain move quick when the smoke cloud thick.
If the world lookin’ down, I’ma still talk slick,
My pronoun’s “The Shit” ’cuz I identify as “lit.”
Ashtray mountain-slopes, sofa-king dope,
Spliff in the roach clip, inhalin’ cherries till I choke.
But my sound still profound, unleashin’ hell-hounds,
Another session, another round, leavin’ the mic spellbound.

Lungs on overload, about to explode,
Coughin’ in the cypher, but the flow’s still dope.
Freelancer rapper, causin’ disaster, forever after, hittin’ you faster.
Who’s the master? “Show-nuff!” You showed up, but the boat’s stuck, ’cuz the moat’s tough, plus you got low buffs.
Wait-a minute, pass that, my train of thought off track, my bad. (My bad bruh)

4315/7500

Ever seen a hundred fifty all smoked up? Ever seen a broke boy still post up? Don’t that shit make you happy? Don’t that shit make you happy? Oh it don’t? [here’s a tissue] I know muthafuckas havin’ issues. I been broke, lil baby, I ain’t trippin’, I adapt, Stretchin’ dollars in the pocket, sprinkle weed in the wrap. Flippin’ couch cushion change, that’s a broke-boy flex, Still laughin’ in the kitchen with the last roach I had left. Funny money, pocket lint, weed crumbs on my jeans, Hittin’ the plug with a smile, he frontin’ me the green. Ain’t no idols on my wall, just a calendar late, And a jar full of keef that I’m savin’ for the shake. Talk slick? Ha, I’ma still gettin’ respect, Even if I’m buyin’ loosies with a government check. You got idols? Cool. I got a busted lighter, But I’m still sparkin’ it up, and my flow hittin’ tighter. Ever seen a hundred fifty all smoked up? Ever seen a broke boy still post up? Don’t that shit make you happy? Don’t that shit make you happy? Oh it don’t? [here’s a tissue] I know muthafuckas havin’ issues. Look, I been down bad, but the spirit stayin’ up, Rollin’ stress in a blunt, let it burn in the cup. Life heavy on my chest, but I’m light in my brain, Roll it up, light again, feelin’ it cover the pain. Bills pilin’ high, I been dodgin’ collectors, But the smoke screen thick, I’m a spiritual vibe protector. Mama said money ain’t growin’ on trees, But I found somethin’ that grow, keep me feelin’ at ease, high like a flyin’ trapeze. Get Every Dollar hustle, learned the street math quick, Playin’ the Lute while gainin’ loot, Stretchin’ a dime to a twenty, that’s a survival trick. Broke but I’m laughin’, man, the struggle done made me, Got a spliff in my hand, ain’t shit gonna break me. Ever seen a hundred fifty all smoked up? Ever seen a broke boy still post up? Don’t that shit make you happy? Don’t that shit make you happy? Oh it don’t? [here’s a tissue] I know muthafuckas havin’ issues. Empty fridge (fridge), ashtray full (full), Weed man call, I’ma scrape that bowl (bowl). Chain don’t swing, I ain’t got one, bro (bro), But I still talk shit when the blunt gets smoked (roll it). Broke boy, broke boy, high on fumes, Smoke cloud thick, fill up the room. Pass that back, don’t kill my mood, Couch locked down but the vibe still smooth. Light that blunt up quick, World flip, my bitch trippin’ but the cannabis stick. Can’t quit, smoke thick, inhalin’ big hits, Even broke, I’m still rich with a fat-ass spliff. Check-to-check, neck stiff, stress on deck, I ain’t got no ice, just a bounced paycheck. Rent man callin’, I don’t even text back, Hide behind smoke like a broke man jetpack. Hungry in the stomach, but my lungs stay fed, Every toke fill me up when the cupboard’s dead. Rum mixed with Coke, unemployment benefits extend, Rappin’ like I’m runnin’ from the bill collector’s debt. I’m a broke boy stoner, Cough so hard, neighbors call the coroner. Roll so long, call it marijuana marathon, Sofa my throne, can’t move, I carry on. Chop it up, chop it up, words overlap, Even when I’m broke, still spittin’ the rap. Smoke stack higher than the dreams I chase, Lungs on fire, but I’m keepin’ the pace. I’ma pot-twistin’ soldier, Ain’t seen a day sober since last October. Weight on my shoulders, but I keep my composure, Broke boy anthem, real-life rollercoaster. Don’t have to think, it’s all instinct, Brain move quick when the smoke cloud thick. If the world lookin’ down, I’ma still talk slick, My pronoun’s “The Shit” ’cuz I identify as “lit.” Ashtray mountain-slopes, sofa-king dope, Spliff in the roach clip, inhalin’ cherries till I choke. But my sound still profound, unleashin’ hell-hounds, Another session, another round, leavin’ the mic spellbound. Lungs on overload, about to explode, Coughin’ in the cypher, but the flow’s still dope. Freelancer rapper, causin’ disaster, forever after, hittin’ you faster. Who’s the master? “Show-nuff!” You showed up, but the boat’s stuck, ’cuz the moat’s tough, plus you got low buffs. Wait-a minute, pass that, my train of thought off track, my bad. (My bad bruh) Ever seen a hundred fifty all smoked up? Ever seen a broke boy still post up? Don’t that shit make you happy? Don’t that shit make you happy? Oh it don’t? [here’s a tissue] I know muthafuckas runnin’ havin’ issues.

0/500