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letra de all i ever wanted - watsky

[verse 1:]
my looks wrong, i know i sound odd

but when i hit the mic the first time, i found god
i’m not downtrodden, lack a great bod, and i be looking more like the crowd on cape cod
but ever since i pumped up my reeboks, before “fiddy” and his unit from the g block
i been rhyming in the mirror, blending in,
like a diamond in the clear, trying to strut it like a peac-ck
i taught myself how to beat box
when i was listening to jay 5 and pete rock
2pac and chief rock, you know, that we gotcha
chillin’ like a meat locker, hotter than some sriracha
sip a bitter memory, and make an ugly face as if it’s nothing but some cheap vodka
just some f-ckin’ mind erasers
but i’m from the bay, and we don’t spend a dime on chasers

[hook:]
all i wanted to do is write rhymes
all i ever wanted to do is write rhymes
all i ever wanted to do is write rhymes
(huh?) is that a crime?
(what?) to write rhymes?

[verse 2:]
i don’t be an economist
i don’t want to be a cheap novelist
i don’t want to be a weed or a botanist
i don’t want to be a pimp or bottom b-tch
i don’t want to be a strip club manager
and i’d hate to be a strip club janitor
mopping up for crusty -ss customer, bust in their nuts in the cuts i
just wanna bust a verse
i don’t wanna be a court jester
i don’t want to be a royal poison tester
i don’t wanna pick up dog cr-p for park and rec
and i don’t want to be a doghouse architect
i don’t want to be a server
i don’t want to flip beef burgers
be a beat maker
a wal mart greeter
a ceo, an astronaut or a f-cking sheep herder

[verse 3:]
but the sad fact is, most real folks don’t get don’t get to practice
what we love for a living
we do backflips
and no matter where we’re at on the atlas
earth spins on it’s axis
back to the rat race
run the hampster wheel
at a mad pace
we’ll run laps till our last days
just a beast till the last rose petal drops in the gl-ss case

i’m one of a lucky bunch
but i upchuck my free lunch when sucker punched
i’m f-cking up, i don’t want to free p-ss
when my ancestors potatoes rotted in the field they would have to eat gr-ss
and folks put on ski masks
when their back’s against the wall throwing right hooks
and i just wanna pen verses, write hooks
man i’m such lucky -sshole
someone f-cking slap me with my rhymebook

- watsky

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