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Zen
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Diagon Ellie Here's another point of view of what he does now/He went from full blown Spartan to samurai lifestyle/And he still has his demons, they're rampant and they run wild/But he knows his actions needs to be dumbed down/I can condense his life into a weekend just to narrow it down/Friday he wakes up, brushes his teeth and puts a blunt in his mouth/Gets dressed and finds a way to get out of the house/Just a group of young niggas lurking in the gulch/Got into it with a hipster, put his sword to his throat/Just a scare tactic so he can blow off steam/But the stroke of his blade so quick it can clip the cherry off ya nicotine/Another young kid with a backpack and a dream/And a skateboarding group of Ronin that know no peace/Each lived by the blade, it was something like a piece/To a mobster, taking out his enemies and some monsters/His conscience grew eerie when the night fell/Eyes heavy, they couldn't adjust to the light well/But the ride with his niggas kept going like a Duracell/And they had to reach a place for a grip to sell/But that grip would flip into something tragic/Stars fly like wishes and blades got to slashing/They robbed a caravan so they could sell a habit/Walked away with an ounce of some Blue Magic/A nigga stepped up, he drug a blade through his guts/Now he's in the backseat/He likes his drugs like his girls, tucked under his nuts/And they reach the hang spot, they stash half and smoke the rest of it up/He pops a Xanax and goes to sleep wishing he'd never get up/Please don't give up
Saturday is a happy day/He puts his nigga's bong away/They made it out of a Grape crush bottle and jug they used to use for Kool-Aid/He fills a solo cup up with Cognac/And searches for the ice that he lacks but the other half of the fridge is broken/He shrugs and knocks it back/Let's party with the rich kids, it can get insane/We can make $800 each by selling a little cocaine/They arrive at the party showing up fashionably late/And they look like them cool niggas, rocking cologne scented of dank/He takes a few girls to the back room to give em bumps/Down they spine when they toot and get asked if they wanna fuck/2 stay in the room that roo works magic on sluts/And they make out with his dick while they're looking up/And he reaches into his pocket and hits a friend or two/One he tells his issues to, the other he puts his dick into/He met the second hoe selling Oxys to Trisha's crew/The other one he truly loved but it always fell through/He would hit his first option but he knew they were confused/Cuz they'd still hook up but there was a nigga she was talking to/He seemed like shogun material whenever he came through/But she always told him his stroke was below an inch or two/So it's the second bitch, she always into some shit/Face painted like a Geisha, his personal Sake waitress/he left his wallet in the car, she could jack him out his last paycheck/But it's cool because the bitch had her own sets of latex/They bust a blunt after a fuck, yeah the usual/Then he plays her a piano tune or two/And she sings along to it, yeah it's beautiful/She wants to be a singer but she's stuck inside a cubicle/And it gets him the words she says sticks him/To the point where his mind gets repaired like stitches/That's a comedown/Yeah his high is over now/It's 3AM Sunday, he should be going home clown/But he with a bitch that don't really love him/She just wants to get fingered and cuddled under the covers to Step Brothers/Normally it didn't bother but now it kinda disgusts him/Because that other bitch is on his head and the other could never cover her
He made it home Sunday, between the hours of 11 or 2/He puts his keys on the stand in his mother's spotless vestibule/He hates this fucking place/His mother always complains about the constant residue/Of blood and his favorite fruit and he's close to committing seppuku/He walks into the den where he can watch pre-recorded pay-per-view/Smackdown baby lets see a slam or two/But his father still lingers his mind/Telling him it's a career he needs to find/Get off ya ass and stop getting high to Sublime/You're good at what you do but you're terrible with the time/And he used to have a room/But now it's filled with toy trucks to the roof/And race car beds for his young nephews/He tells them everyday that he loves em/No one is above them but his brother has it fucked up he should probably correct ya mother/And his mom tells him to chill/They aren't at the age to know the deal/Don't break the oath or ya feelings will get killed/Maybe he should enroll in college, seek knowledge instead of homage/But his lack of motivation and authority problems hold him hostage/He had a weird dream and he wrote a poem/That poem became rap and he made a few songs/And people really seem to love him and that burned in his soul/So hopefully that passion could break him of the insecurities that he holds/He lays on the couch, not looking at TV/Headphones in watching anime on his iPhone screen/And he studies his moves from Hiei and has his nephews to teach/They join him for some ice cream after a victory speech/"One day, my little geeks, you'll see me on the screen/Being the best at my craft and making sure that you eat"/He'll buy himself a Beamer, His nephews their own TV's/And finally see his father smile while he's screaming "can you see me?"/
