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letra de rap song - ryan wesley

i’m gonna write a rap song
no idea how i’m getting on with it
cause whenever to rhyme i sit down
feels like i’ll never be good at this sh-t

does it have to be as good all the f-cking time?
these words don’t do justice to thoughts in my mind
man you gotta go through the grind
all these years to screw up i’d be stupid to wanna be great in the first try

i’m gonna have to know what i wanna talk about
gonna have to even if i’m making sense or not, cause there’s a lot
in this pot of wicked thoughts and i’ve been tricked a lot to think i’m the biggеst shot
but somebody’s gotta tell me godd-mn i’m not, i’m just anothеr part of the lot

let me ask you, do you feel like the world’s always coming at you, but the fact is that
you know it’s real only in your head cause you ain’t got no friend
and when you fell into this crowd did you sh-t your pants? were you like oh h-ll!
i wish they don’t see me
god send me back mumma’s womb i beg
when i go back to my bed i think of things i could’ve said
be it through a song, a poem, a few lines or a quote
i write it down, fight it out, like i am right now on the paper, but later when i take a
look, i can’t even get along with the straight up piece of sh-t i wrote

i’m taking time, bring me wine
while i learn to spit those eminem rhymes
sorry wine? i’m more of a whisky guy but i need to be posh to sell these lines
and i see kid’s brain cells decline
as i sit here and wonder who i write this song for and why
for who believe the goverment has nothing to hide
f-ck i’m talking to myself, am i?

for these chicks? selling their tits and half ass faced cl!cks
wanting songs bout poppin them bl–dy pills
who only ever see these starbucks bills
or for the kid who thinks he’s alone with bis pocket filled enough to buy the cheapest thing that fits
cause his situation’s ill

or for my mother who should know what she taught her kid still sticks
all the times she got behind us ain’t going to the dogs
she been through all the wrongs, all that love is like a treasure behind open doors
even today, when i write away these lyrics, it’s her gift
mumma thanks a lot!

cause when you said i was good and they never thought i was
then my hand you took said i’d only get better if i were flawed, i applaud the way, you taught me to stay and not give away what i was best at you said
the pain you kept to yourself still moved on with a smiling face, every day
makes me love more than yesterday
this is for my brothers who’ve stayed, be it days
when i was talked about, to the ones in which i was the biggest flop in town
come on frown for me
i’m on my way to the lowest ground you see
but i’m gonna get back up one day and you’re gonna wonder hey if you’ll survive the wrath of creativity i bring with me

i don’t care if you think my rhymes are weak or my flow is cheap
cause i’m not a rapper i’m just a boy trying to speak
c’mon ryan please, (shut up)
can you stop crying, please? (stupid!) you’re not mature you’re just tryna be
how do you have an opinion how the f-ck do you know what pain is when you’re just nineteen

first of all, f-ck you all, i don’t wanna disrespect no one i just wanna know the sh-t you been high on
cause when i last checked, you didn’t earn no respect, brother you gon’ need some help if you think you’re the only emotional wreck
cause when you’re one month love left you on read, that was the only time you got depressed

actually that’s a heavy word
do you even know how f-ckin bad it hurts, to have to feel it’s just you against the world
again that’s some heavy talk for a kid, let me go count these likes, just sixteen oh my!
what am i gonna do now i thought they’d love this outfit

oh i quit! i can’t do this any longer, thought i was stronger
pretend to be the cool guy, i’m not one
i’d take a shotgun and bust ’em all open i’m so mad
how do you not be a child with the mind of a man when the first gun put to your head was in a trusted hand
i wasn’t crying then and i’m not crying now
i’m just tryna help who might be driving on the same route
it only gets worse when you feel it’s something to worry about, chill the f-ck out
it’s just a matter of time, the amount of failed tries before you get to wear that crown

d-mn i think i shouldn’t write
my lyrics are as stupid as my ex-school teacher’s wife
or maybe i should not act like a freak and if i treat my lyrics like students
i should work on ’em and not treat them like they ain’t mine

- ryan wesley

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