Trash Tracks

The proof of the pudding is in the eating
Truth is, you can find it in the media
The movies, in the music
I can read it in your movements
It doesn't offend me if I be muted
Shit, the better to fall unto deaf ears (Kill me)
Don't you making me into copies (Kill me)
I don't go to meetings beyond the lobby (Nigga, kill me)
I'll never finish my story until I've left here

They ask me who I am as an artist
In the past few months that you've known me
I done shown you
What's to come with this "Toni" character
Nigga, blow me
If I spare your life, call it favor
Now you owe me
For the pain and the strife which goes with
Existing with the humankind
When you say I'm a bitch
Know you're lying, but it's fine
There's no use crying over my spilled wine
I'ma get what's mine all in due time

They ask me who I am as an artist
I'm not a genius, I'm the farthest thing from it (Oh)
Whoa
Whoa
Not in your genus, I'm the farthest thing from it, oh
To think that we can see the stars, though they're already dead
(Yo, that's irrelevant)
I heard curses from afar
God damn it, now they're stuck in my head

So get to stepping
Niggas acting pregnant
What's contraception
From my perspective, you can keep it reckless
But come correct when approaching me, nigga
Touch your neck, and then count your blessings
No social preference; fuck 'em all collectively
Psycho stressors say the drugs can set me free
I'm aggressive, yet unimpressive
I don't need your reverence
Nigga, I digress, 'cuz if I start regressing
Then you'll get the message
(Fuck up out my presence)

Sometimes be tryna talk shit
But I ain't so good at talking shit
I'd rather show the way it is in the way I choose to live
Whether with cracks upon my lips
Or my knife here on my hip
At any time of any day, one could crack under the whip
I hear the knocks upon the door
But let them fade into the mist
I threw my faith into the sea, 'cuz it was never kind to me
With everything between
I hallucinate and elucidate
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait

Bitch, it's T-O-N-I
If you hear it spelled, "Y"
Then you've got the wrong guy
Yo, I'm slick as butter over rye
When you witness your demise
It won't be televised, nigga
Take a look into my eyes
I've been catching sleep
Tell me, do I look deprived
Counting hella sheep, bitch
Little Bo Peep ain't shit to me
Right now, I feel alive
Step into the shadows with the roaches, where I thrive
Bliss is what the ignorance contrives
Lately, I've been stamping out the lies
So, if she throws it at me, I'll be tying up some hands for the night
And after, I'll be feeling quite contrite
Here I go again, always spilling how I'm feeling on the mic