Back To The Grind

Sleep is a cousin of death
Fear is a son of a [bad word] The child of jew - s-son of a snitch
George w-w-W - son of a [bad word] Fuch every president, back to Washington
Even Jonh F. Kennedy, we enemies.
Like Israel and Palestine
I proceed like acid in alco line
Bottom line of world gettin worse
Every blink of a curse
I drink and still thursty
blinging on a dollar sign
Might the time fast
Like a road on the Audobine
Falling like the kids of Columbine
For them Obama american example pie
Every country stocking up the nuclear weapons
America else so what, my work in castle, pop.
In a casket I'm out on the grind -
trying to make my cash flip, doble and tripple.
Doves dies niggas. My back to the wall.
While your back on the matresse relaxing.
Ain't no rest for the way we
Begs under my eyes
Outside looking drairy, cold and raining.
But ain't no complaining
Actually I complain
But ain't nobody trying to help me
Cause everybody got their own stress
Their own problems