Epilogue: Long Jawn

But really I'm sick of rapping

But really i miss the passion

You feel me, i miss the scene

You feel me, i miss the action

I miss touring, miss America, miss the pageant

I'm still married to that dame

Though the game is Mrs. Jackson

Rappers love talking this epic

When we talk about our exit from showbiz

I'm nobody, noticed we left it

Was hedging bets at the school of texas

Holding Rolexes and Lexuses just a second, I got a test

But I'm blessed, got live and learn

Literally, did a term then went to getting earn

Urn, just let it burn

Words I could grow-op

No, I don't mean grow pot

I mean gettin' that dough tho

I still gotta grow lots

Live real stories, grow plots

They wanted more crops

And grow guap and you find some botox robots to co-op

But y'all know me, dont stop!

I just go off

I stay on point for the heads

This cut's a mohawk, uh

For heads thats headstrong, uh

And head with dreads and white corn rows

Although that's dead wrong

But listen, this is all inclusive

For all humans, just for y'all amusement

Music for the blue-collared dudes and all the college students

I'm Paul Wall in '05 and I'm car pollution James Harden hoopin'

All meanin' that I'm a problem Houston

Constant nuisance, I cause confusion

Hold on this song's as long as the constitution

Its just that I've got a lot of thoughts that are hard to explain

I'm trying to try a little tender of the heart and brain

Hard headed thoughts darkened and charred in the flame

I'm talking black, pardon the slang

But the flames like Flocka

Young man always gotta go hard in the paint

We talk foul on offensive, they call charge in the game

But even activists [?] target them chain stores

And get chained to the same war, same arms taking aim

Arm leg leg arm head, we all the same