Rain on the streets of los santos. I been on my ten toes hoping for something other than these clothes. Something other than the path I chose and god knows, I’m a failure that’s the face I show. On this land I grow colder than Siberian snow I’m at an all time low. My mind is weaker than the wind blow. I feel brooding like anikin, might call up my ex again, and beg for the loveless sex that we had again. All I have in my life’s a pen, and pad and dem, I got no parterdem aka, I got no friends. I’m the lonliest artist, since I started. And to the faithful departed, I am honored. I’m a goldfish hoping for bigger things, but the fishbowl keep me from pulling strings. I only wanted what I needed. But hope has been receding. And I don’t wanna come off like I’m pleading. When I’m older and look back at my life, I’ll see the devil looking at me in the past with his pipe, and a colt 45 with a post card writes that i, can never escape my past, or my pride but, these the bends and these the breaks sometimes it’s hard to take. Sometimes I feel that I don’t got no say. Sometimes I feel that I’m the only one that understands me. That’s why I keep my demons in the pantry