This is a song about "Departe de lumea rea"

Give me the mic, my de-vice, that i utilise, write these lines, that'll be

That's gon' make it hard to smile in the futurebut through whatever you see

Fif-tee /nine times till ya de-ceased/ im sick son new form of disease/

Niggas fightin 'cross the whole planet, so it could never be peace

Slick rick, de la soul, and rakim spit sicker,

And maybe one day his kids, something that he'll live for

If you thought it, it better be what you want

Fakes try to put me on de-frost, they be glossed,

The words brings de-lights peace is what i incite

Tell by your handbag that boy don't do you right

That i couldn't leave even semi-free on cinco de mile*

Yo, i'm a hot and bothered astronaut crashing while