Friends - AlphaCub, Oncue

Sorry this ain’t back pack, Sorry this ain’t frat rap

This might seem abstract

All I got are sick lines it’s Anthrax on Amtrak

We about to win I said

«Where the fuck those hands at?»

Your girl and her friends?

I don’t know what do wit em

No one taken our lane

See we Drivin drunk taken up two of em

I didn’t move out to Brooklyn to be a hipster

Moved to Brooklyn to see the big picture

Only when you leave, thats when they wanna miss ya

But when your there for 'em, all they wanna do is diss ya

And never call you again, if you don’t deliver

So let’s sip the elixir

Call the waitress and tip her

Don’t hit me on Twitter

When you see me getting bigger

I don’t no more friends

All I want are those figures

See the thing is, all they doing is imitating

But down the road they fuckin themselves

It’s masturbation

They ain’t real, they ain’t real — see It’s only entertainment

They ain’t in the streets

If they’re backs laying on the pavement

Talk shit, it ain’t me — But I do it on occasion

And I’m cockin back and aiming at all y’all who’s lamin

Claimin fame goin down the drain

Man, You ain’t shit

You a dame, only a stain see me I’m the shit

I can see through your bullshit

Running in the air, and I don’t really care cause

All I need

Is real people, and real music and real people

And no I don’t want new friends

Cause I don’t wanna feel like I have to pretend

Cause all I need

Is real people, and real music and real people

They say «Cuey, Mr. OnCue

You smooth as silk»

Meanwhile I’m sippin black coffee can’t afford milk

They be sweatin me tellin me I’m a pimp

But the only thing In my pockets is wrappers and lint

She couldn’t do it, neither could she

Neither could this jager, neither could this weed

Every weekend I rage

Wake up Sunday

Facing minimum wage

Shit I need to get paid

Last night I got laid

But what did it do for me?

Except, I don’t gotta click on YouPorn this morning

I’m torn between tourin and dormin and soarin to the top

My father always said «shit» or «get off the pot!»

This whole time I wasn’t bitin'

I was writin for the enlightened

So when you smell my shit, is when I start wipin

I’ve been steadily, heavenly on my grind

So when time I either shine or go lose my mind

Can you tell these other rappers

I’ma fuck the game backwards

Go ahead pigeon hole me

Homie you don’t even know me

You ain’t competition you a cronie

Of a bum, mama look what I’ve become

They googlin me like crack heads, look at your youngest son

So stop with the comparisons

Don’t know what they talkin bout yeah

They Sarah Palin and I realize these rappers suck they own dick

Manson, Marilyn

Your girls doing my work at the Sheridan

I ain’t being arrogant, I got soul in me, it’s been apparent since

They wanted to buy me out like Merrill Lynch

I ain’t forfeiting some flowers and a coffin in a Hearse

Would be more fitting than this white collar ball licking

Wake up and look at the life we’re all living

You can’t trust no one any far as you could throw em

Watch me crash down as I move up on this totem

Nah I don’t know 'em I told’em

Yeah I swore I fucking told’em like