"Where the love go?!" Shit. Where the bud go? I don't really roll, but I just rolled. Dying in laughter. A crying disaster, because I am who I'm after. Everybody discarded me (retardedly), then I find out I was wrong. So guard the beat. If there's still love in the air, "Can I put a little bud in the air?" Hug me for years. I'm sick and fucking tired of tears. I pick up a tire and... here. As in, drive. As in, wind time. As in, "I've been winted..." I'm sorry. As in, "I've been winded in Wintertime." I forget. It's Winter's time. Then, I dine. And then (maybe), some chick who's REALLY FUCKING STUPID would wine (wind). To this shit

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!

I have fans. They put the candles out. So now, I am what I stand about. "Those" are my fans. And "those" are my friends. Frozen hands and frozen limbs, while I give myself a hug in a mental ward. No straightjacket, either. Shit. That's dinner for ya! Lock(ed) myself up, like "Help us!" Then I get help from Chuck (my other side). But fuck the other side, it's just us tonight. And I'ma ride, until I DIE. And I am obsessed with suicide, so "Why lie?" The shit isn't magick, so "Wahlah!" (The) Devil Wears Prada. And I like shopping at thrift stores. "MA?! N***AS WANNA GET ME FLY! Then they flew me out to London. Now... get me, while I die!"

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!
Can I get a hug? Because for Show and Tell, I fucking brought in a little bug. I didn't. I'm lying. Cray. Or, UnCray. Just depends on how you play. I'm frying. And that "little bug" was my self-esteem. Passed it to all those bitches who were helping me love me more. "I'm ugly, you whore!" "I'm lovely, you whore!" You see that click? Yo. You see that shit?! I ain't on no beeyatch shit, but I'm *scratching* like three rashes. And I'm not on some DJ shit, you beeyatches. All I know is I'm nice when I... spit. Mad syllables. And, I'm mad lyrical. Toss all them shit(s) out the air. Toss 'em out the room. I'M the one who's expecting DOOM from a womb...

"We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it on!
We could really get it o-o-on!"
'Cause NOBODY LOVES ME
Except you
Who's me
So me
And you
Let's do
What it do!