Reasons - Diabolic

I’m respected in this game, I’ve rocked every spot I’ve been in

While you can’t show your face like Islamic women rocking linen

But I’m stuck living in mom’s house without a fucking bed

Cause these major labels put out wack emcees like Pumpkinhead

So I ain’t touching bread, I’ve been ducking feds

Ain’t even hustle for myself, I spent it on some cunt instead

Got nothing left, every breath is harder than the last

When success seems out of reach, slipping farther in the past

That’s why I’m trashed, sparking up this hash in a session

Packing up more angel dust than the addict in heaven

That’s why I’m pissed off like having a bladder infection

With broken catheters left in my dick when I have an erection

It got me liable to snap in a matter of seconds

Pulling Mac-11s like Pun from the back of an Acura Legend

I just think of my future, past and the present

Try to capture the essence and find some sort of lasting impression

But all I found’s a corrupt cop’s act of aggression

Grabbing me and smashing my head in with the back of his weapon

That’s why I’m beyond the blessings of a Catholic confession

And why I take cash when the plate’s passed for collection

I’ve had it with being the illest rapper to step in

Lacking success in the game when dudes bite like they don’t have a reflection

I’ve had it with these labels so I’m breaking the mold

Cause they ain’t just taking creative control, they’re taking my soul!

The reason I’m a liar, the reason I’m a thief

The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat

Is the reason you avoid me when I’m walking down the street

And it’s probably the same reason I’ll end up deceased

The reason I’m a liar, the reason I’m a thief

The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat

Is the reason that I wild out and riot in the street

And it’s the same reason my fucking life will never have peace

Yo I think about Hip-Hop and how they just take it away

Cause I grew up when Wu-Tang got rotational radio play

But nowadays if I say shit I’m nothing but a hater

Til I pull a rusty razor and cut your face, like «fuck your paper!»

Maybe I’m mad cause labels use food stamps to pay me

But I can’t be only one who’d rather hear Boot Camp than Jay-Z

So yeah, I’m underground and my fans are backpackers

But at least my fans don’t buy mixtapes full of wack rappers

I can’t front, I listen when I’m in the club grabbing tits and

The bass is so loud I don’t hear the trash you’re spittin'

All that glamour, glitz and packs of crack you’re flipping

Won’t be real 'til you stop bragging and say it was a bad decision

If you’re anything like me, you’re poor with a tortured past

Getting beat by pigs because your pants are half off your ass

Ain’t tossin' cash in photographs with some camera crew

You was black and blue in handcuffs on New York Avenue

That’s the truth, that’s the reason I’m almost suicidal

Feeling out of place like Muslims with a Jewish bible

Been taking drama from my baby mama, now my mind is gone

Weight of the world’s on my shoulders, and eight planets piled on

Rifle drawn, pointed at the cops when you calling them

Six million ways to die, I’ll try all of them

Holding a Glock and squeezing until they stop my breathing

I know I’m crazy, don’t ask me why, I got my reasons