[Hook]
The grass is always greener
Walk a mile in my shoes
What’s a one dollar finish to a million dollar move
I want more than just a cliche to get me through the day
But I get mad at myself cuz I can’t find the words to say
[Verse 1]
Most often noticed for the bogusness
I wrote this shit just sitting in the farmers market tryna find some focus
It’s a joke
Life is but a smoke
Burn it down, have a stroke
Runnin' round the city all these women like a can of coke
I like the ones who got some meat on their bones
The ones who got a lot of problems but they leave 'em alone
I ride the T and write my poems, that’s when it comes to me the best
And when these suits try and test me gotta run and catch my breath
Management, they wanna fire me
I’m sick of workin' at the gym
I’m skinny handin' towels out while all the girlies checkin' in
Couldn’t wait til 7:30, get off work a little early
Throw the music in the car and rushin' nowhere in a hurry
My life so ordinary that I wanted something else
So I picked up the microphone and stopped blaming myself
[Hook]
[Verse 2]
Again and again I be following a trend
Chasing meaningless rhetoric my doctor recommends
I spend at least 30 minutes in the sun, I never can 'cause I’m stuck inside talking to myself like he’s my friend
Oh shit, you gotta step it up and pick the slack up
Like a cop or a second string they calling me the backup
And all these new hip-hoppers they make their songs and got a crew or clique
I don’t I got a microphone two balls and my fuckin' dick
I’m sick of you Maggie
She wants to hear the radio
She turn that shit so loud, that’s why I couldn’t even save a ho
The mainstream tellin' her she need to be a slut
The underground tellin' her she need to show some butt
Cut her wrist, trim the gut
I'm sittin' there like "What the fuck?"
I’m tryna be the one to say some different stuff don’t know what
Because I try so hard to make it so it seems you never listen so I’ll make this for myself and play this shit up in my kitchen
Fuck the fame and fuck the fortune
I’m recording and it’s scorching, 94 on the thermometer I’m sittin' on the porch and glad I’m able to connect with you
Like cable for the Internet, with every song you think I suck a little less
[Hook]
The grass is always greener
Walk a mile in my shoes
What’s a one dollar finish to a million dollar move
I want more than just a cliche to get me through the day
But I get mad at myself cuz I can’t find the words to say
[Verse 1]
Most often noticed for the bogusness
I wrote this shit just sitting in the farmers market tryna find some focus
It’s a joke
Life is but a smoke
Burn it down, have a stroke
Runnin' round the city all these women like a can of coke
I like the ones who got some meat on their bones
The ones who got a lot of problems but they leave 'em alone
I ride the T and write my poems, that’s when it comes to me the best
And when these suits try and test me gotta run and catch my breath
Management, they wanna fire me
I’m sick of workin' at the gym
I’m skinny handin' towels out while all the girlies checkin' in
Couldn’t wait til 7:30, get off work a little early
Throw the music in the car and rushin' nowhere in a hurry
My life so ordinary that I wanted something else
So I picked up the microphone and stopped blaming myself
[Hook]
[Verse 2]
Again and again I be following a trend
Chasing meaningless rhetoric my doctor recommends
I spend at least 30 minutes in the sun, I never can 'cause I’m stuck inside talking to myself like he’s my friend
Oh shit, you gotta step it up and pick the slack up
Like a cop or a second string they calling me the backup
And all these new hip-hoppers they make their songs and got a crew or clique
I don’t I got a microphone two balls and my fuckin' dick
I’m sick of you Maggie
She wants to hear the radio
She turn that shit so loud, that’s why I couldn’t even save a ho
The mainstream tellin' her she need to be a slut
The underground tellin' her she need to show some butt
Cut her wrist, trim the gut
I'm sittin' there like "What the fuck?"
I’m tryna be the one to say some different stuff don’t know what
Because I try so hard to make it so it seems you never listen so I’ll make this for myself and play this shit up in my kitchen
Fuck the fame and fuck the fortune
I’m recording and it’s scorching, 94 on the thermometer I’m sittin' on the porch and glad I’m able to connect with you
Like cable for the Internet, with every song you think I suck a little less
[Hook]
( Cam Meekins )
www.ChordsAZ.com