(Flight attendant, filtered: On behalf of Pan Am Airlines [sounds of toking], we'd like to be the first to welcome you to New York City. We'd like to thank you for flying Pan Am [cough]. The local time is 6:45 AM, and the temperature is 89 degrees.)
I've been up all night on the red-eye flight
The dawn's early light got the skyline bright
I'm in the back of a car of service. The driver's kinda nervous
cause I'm tokin' on a blunt that's phat
He say "You know where you at?"
I say "I know where I am, and if you really want a tip then Mister, don't get flam!
I ain't tryin' to be rude, and I ain't stressin' you, Gramps,
But this shit right here, it be the breakfast of champs.
I been tokin' on this since thirteen years old
And when I look up at my wall I see platinum and gold
And ain't nobody sneezin' at the money I fold
And I ain't here for your pleasin' so put that shit on hold
Just keep your mouth shut and get me to the hotel
and turn the radio up while I finish this El."
(Bell boy: Welcome to the Five Seasons, Mr. Ford. Your usual room is ready and waiting. Let me take your luggage. If you need anything while you're staying, just let me know!
Everlast: You're good lookin' out...That's for you.)
I hop out my car, step into the lobby
Everybody's on the floor. It's a mother fuckin' robbery!
The shit's in progress. I can feel the stress
I wonder silently to God, "How'd I get in this mess?"
They tell me to freeze and get down on my knees
Between my jewels and my cash I'm holding 35 Gs.
They told me to run it, so I got bold and I fronted
And like Slick Rick said, I know I shouldn'ta done it
'Cause now they're standing over me, watching me bleed
Damn! I got to quit smokin' all this weed
There's a pain in my chest, but yo, I must be blessed
Because before I faded out I saw the EMS
And the paramedics, they greet me with some anesthetics
They killin' my pain, they screamin' my name
Tryin' to keep me in the conscious world
I'm thinkin' bout my mom, my sister and my girl
I'm prayin' to God, don't let this go too far
As they rush me into the Saint Luke's O.R.
They pull the bullets out my chest and give 'em back in a jar
Now I'm wearin' this scar 'cause I tried to play hard
(Doctor: "Mr. Ford, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."
Everlast: "What are you talkin' about?"
Doctor: "It would appear that one of the bullets grazed your spine, and damaged the cord."
Everlast: "So what are you tryin' to tell me?"
Doctor: "Well, suffice I have to say to say I don't think you'll be jumpin' around any more.")
Yo! This can't happen to me! I just can't believe it!
Trapped in a wheelchair! A paraplegic!
There ain't no rehab, there ain't no therapy.
For the rest of my life, someone's gotta take care of me!
And people stare at me with pity in they eyes
And every morning I rise to a life I despise
And every night I think I might never rock the mic again
'Cause my brain's fucked up on Percocet and Vicodin
Might as well be heroin pulsin' through my veins
Gotta kill these pains or blow out my brains
To free me from these chains.
I'm trapped in this physical hell.
To walk again I might just sell my soul
And I'm only twenty-somethin' years old.
Autor(es): Erik Schrody