Love On Display

We move, on the merch, CDs and shirts
For you, this is a game, but for me this is work
I punch in, ha, when I step on the stage
And get paid when my record is played
Word to Printmatic
I'm a poetry chick magnet
With Goldy the pimp habits
I roll with the Lin that is
Droven Omaha be flowin for hick-ass kids
Know that I was zonin at the moment I hit that shit
(Kris references) and no one'll get that shit
I even make the best of it or go home and slit my wrists
Imagine what a trip it is rappin for little shits
Who think that deejaying was created by Mr. Dibbs
Thing of it is, those are the main ones
That show us support so I owe 'em my existence and shit
So, I gotta thank 'em, my home is broken, ain't it
I downloaded parents cause I heard they're overrated
I was the demo tape when the group was first created
Younger Brother was the debut album when they made it
E behind the music, believe that I've been through it
I either write the true shit or feel my life is useless
You should, do this, math with me right quick, dawg
I cry myself to sleep when the lights get soft
Tour twice, in the spring and the fall
Ten weeks each, my son doesn't see me at all
Now out of twelve months, daddy's gone for five
Spot dates in the mix, I'm absent for six
So I'm a half-ass daddy, part-time singer
Half-ass crazy, got my wife feelin half single
In New Jersey, bitchin with the wordplay
About how my parents raised me in the worst way
Possible, doin what I gotta do and tryin to get a pop or two
Missin my only son's third birthday
I'm a self-centered piece of shit, stomped down hypocrite
Tryin to get a grip on it but now I gotta live with it
This is me, motherfucker, I'm a mean mugger
Not intentionally, brother, I was tryin to see somethin
I never cried cause I'm legally blind
All I can do is describe what I see in my mind
People are fine until they peep a weakness of mine
Then they fuck me over so I need to leave 'em behind
Shit's real, my wrist still stiff from my last hook
Cat learned how to scrap just by gettin his ass whooped
I catch an elbow and that shit'll just hurt
So I swing mine the next time I get in some dirt
And that works, and that's why Murs is the homie
Cause the brothers ain't scared to dig our spurs in the moment
My recipe for greatness, there's no depletin this
Cause the active ingredient in it is my weaknesses
I speak with this little drawl that the Midwest created
When they treat someone like shit for a decade
Anthony can't chirp, flair, or backspin
But he'll listen to my fucked up life without laughin
I'm challenged and offended by sheets of blank paper
Who act like they are too good to carry my strange flavor
Painstaking to me, suffice it to say
I ain't scared to put my motherfuckin life on display