Let's pretend Marshall Mathers never picked up a pen. Let's pretend things would've been no different. Pretend he procrastinated, had no motivation. Pretend he just made excuses that were so paper thin, they could blow away with the wind. Marshall, you never gonna make it makes no sense to play the game there ain't no way that you'll win. Pretend he just stayed outside all day and played with his friends. Pretend he even had a friend to say was his friend. And it wasn't time to move and schools weren't changing again. He wasn't socially awkward and just strange as a kid. He had a father and his mother wasn't crazy as sht. And he never dreamed he could rip stadiums and just lazy as sht. Fck a talent show in the gymnasium, btch, you won't amount to sht. Quit daydreaming, kid. You need to get your cranium checked. You thinking like an alien, it just ain't realistic. Now pretend, they ain't just making him angry with this sht, and there was no one he couldn't even aim when he's pissed it. And his alarm went off to wake him but he didn't make it to the rap Olympics, slept through his plane and he missed it. He's gonna have a hard to time explaining to Hayley and Laney these food stamps and this WIC sht. 'Cause he never risked sht. He hoped and he wished it, but it didn't fall in his lap. So he ain't even here, he pretends that.
I had/have nowhere else to put that. Aren't you proud that I could write all that without having to refer to anything?
Oh no, of ocurse you aren't. I have nothing for anyone to be proud of.
No comments:
Post a Comment