"tired of fuckin' around on some other shit…sick of the same b.s. where the things that i get…
i've deemed just as crappy as the things that i shit…
dropping kids at the pool, er, a bathroom toilet…
i've already referenced shit three times; aww, fuck it…
my mood is shitty; thus, words an asshole would spit…
if it dumped on paper; an explosion of shit…
sprayed on a page, it's lasting; so one not forget…
my heart scripted in brown's nasty, so let me quit…
this thought's on what i want; i'm off the point of it…
a guide on what i need to do for getting it…
like i said before, i've been on some other shit…
let me start with the "cliff notes" version of my side…
i feel i must vent, so through writing i'll confide…
i've never asked for shit and i've not been denied…
'cause i've tended to get what i've sought when i've tried…
but the thing i wanted the most i never tried…
the release of my seed when her legs were spread wide…
a mixture of the two of us growing inside…
see, i want kids but i've found tunes already tied…
thus, my only wish for this life has been denied…
me as a father, a couple kids at my side…
ones that i've fathered; lacking's proves i'm justified…
having no offspring reason enough to decide…
i can no longer let those chicks slide anymore…
ones with kids, still deciding if they want any more…"fixed" 'til i've broken them at their maternal core…
and they realize 'cause of me they want to have more…
through mine she'd birth a fifth, she's already got four…
all girls: a set of twins ten, one seven, one four…
even if her words ring true, my heart does implore…
for me to move on 'cause i've heard that shit before…
why take a chance on a chick who's already bore…
more fruit than the local corner grocery store…
thirty-three means i can't compromise anymore…
thirty-three means i can't waste my time anymore…"
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