Letra de 30

[Verso 1]
Sent ya bitch a dick pic and now she need glasses
Turn your bitch Slick Rick right now if I flashed it
Ate a couple pills and took the bud out the plastic
Flicking bogey ashes, bitch, I stay blasted
Microphone Cassius, Magic with the sick shit
'Posed to been dead, but bitch, I’m still up in this bitch
Verbal herbal poison, words I contortion
Fucked a pregnant bitch, she saved money on her ga-bortion
I feel like Billy Corgan in a church playing organ
Covering Too Short, smoking a Newport
Kurt hoped the drugs would make the pain go away
But all these thoughts up in my head made the sane go astray
So step inside the mind that revolves around the rhyme
And every time he close his eyes, visions of white lines
Dying in the arms of a blond, blue-eyed 20-something
Don’t know her name but the paramedics chest-pumping
"30 something black male, OD'ed off of pills
That he wasn’t prescribed, but they took his life"
Left behind a daughter that don’t really even know him
'Cos her mama thought he wouldn’t make a living off of poems"
But it was a long journey on a rocky road
Had a hoody on and a jacket in the snow
Walking in the cold on the way to the studio
Nigga, that was just a couple years ago
Dropped a couple mixtapes on the net
Niggas tried to front like it wasn’t all that
But guess what, bitch, I’m coming back
Guess what, bitch, I’m coming back
Signed to Fool's Gold and everything is all gnarly
Now these bitches want my number to get up in the party
Came a long way from extension cords in the window
Borrow neighbor's power just to plug up the Nintendo
Where the ovens never closed and the stoves never off
Every winter so cold niggas sleeping wearing scarf
But I always tell myself that it's gonna get better
You know who you is? You the greatest rapper ever
So now the pressure's on, to prove that voice right
Some people never know they goals, knew mine my whole life
So now his turn's up, fixing up to bat
Pitching singles to the label when I used to pitch crack
I never learned to rap, always knew how
Ever since a nigga 8, knew what I would do now
When I turned 28, they like, "What you gon' do now?"
And now a nigga 30, so I don't think they heard me
That the last ten years, I been so fucking stressed
Tears in my eyes, let me get this off my chest
The thoughts of no success got a nigga chasing death
Doing all these drugs, hope for OD’ing next, Triple X