Under Pressure
The Flying Dutchmen
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Lyrics
Been goin' out my mind forever
Even when I think I'd never
Get to where I'm goin' 'cause I
Think it's a-gonna be sweet
This ain't a game that I'm buyin'
I'd sell my soul just for tryin'
And if you try to stop me, well, I'm
Never gonna be free
Never try to stop me, it's illogical, the rhyme style's phenomenal
We write philosophical, this life's a long obstacle
Right when you move a few steps, they try stopping you
Locking you, pop at you, whatever's fucking possible
My man was confused with life, was snatching pocketbooks
To get high, crushing pills, was feeling unstoppable
Until he overdosed, almost died, was in the hospital
A life support machine breathing for him in constant view
He lived but kept the habit, sniffed and was rolling L's
Overdosed again then he died in his holding cell
His mom's got him tatted on her hand, life's cold as hell
I cried when I heard that he died, in him I saw myself
And me you see, whatever your choice is
But the music that I make, you understand that there's choices
And I'm only one out of a million voices
But me, I'm making sense and the rest are making noises
Been goin' out my mind forever
Even when I think I'd never
Get to where I'm goin' 'cause I
Think it's a-gonna be sweet
This ain't a game that I'm buyin'
I'd sell my soul just for tryin'
And if you try to stop me, well, I'm
Never gonna be free
Yo, jail stories, six by nine, locked down
Cellie tripping, strongly advise him, "Pipe down
Calm down, motherfucker," punch a hole through your face
On some Demon Knight shit, I can't afford the case
So I sat back, take a deep breath, through my brain on ease
The gate pop, feel that day room breeze
Yo, I stay running emcees
Spades I made, like ten packs plus the grub I ate last week
Shit is real, native said he threw a man on the books
Family cool, guess they still ride for the boy
Ricky Fitz, stay locked by the law, just wanna be free
Ohio player, son, peep that PX terror
Yo, my MO, burglary, PX, you heard of me
I'm known to snatch safes, when you see me, don't say a word to me
Silence when Rick's in the booth spitting that third degree
Touchdown, Cy home now, yo, God, it's time to eat
Been goin' out my mind forever
Even when I think I'd never
Get to where I'm goin' 'cause I
Think it's a-gonna be sweet
This ain't a game that I'm buyin'
I'd sell my soul just for tryin'
And if you try to stop me, well, I'm
Never gonna be free
Yo, pressure cooker, the good looker for looking good
Look, shook you, took you, we take niggas for looking good
Look, like it's looking good in your hood, we poppin' up
Stalking on you while we lose pockets, it's guap enough
Who's cocking the Glock and mastered the stockin' and poppin' what?
Orville Redenbacher, you're knockin' pockets, it's kinda tough
Minds is kinda hurt, gotta find work, grind berserk
Tick tock up on the clock, up on the block, slide and work
I'm on some nine-to-five, five-to-nine, ten-to-six penny flip
While shorty at the crib flippin' heavy shit
Noddin' off in class from long nights in the lab
A strong slice to the pad got my pen leakin' fluid
Staff across the page like sheet music
G-clef, modern street new shit, four-four time signature
Vanderslice swift beat kick, rhyme prime minister
Standard mic grip type sick, my mind's sinister
Been goin' out my mind forever
Even when I think I'd never
Get to where I'm goin' 'cause I
Think it's a-gonna be sweet
This ain't a game that I'm buyin'
I'd sell my soul just for tryin'
And if you try to stop me, well, I'm
Never gonna be free