When I open up my door See a waste land Everybody packing heat in they waistband Smog filling up the sky far as you can see I'm trying to get the killers back for what they did to me Leather jacket, black boots and a fresh cut Top long sized Gone Hoes going nuts I'm on a quest Let me end up, I'll be your guest Tell me what I need to know and that's for the best Come across a few friends if you call them that Count 'em on one hand But no more than that You see a lot of motherfuckers that won't hesitate To leave you dead and alone, burning at the stake
At least I got my Pip-Boy, least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip
I be thinking too much about anything Nothing don't matter, shit I keep pretending to, always so hesitant I see another friend up in the room with you Who get rid of it, keeping your mouth shut Stuck in a rut All I ever needed was a big fat butt in my face And a little bit of cash Everything else, take care of itself I'm ready to shop at the top of the shelf Help Defendin' himself Don't blame myself, but everyone else Throw a pity party likes it's 1999 Since you wanna be in the time I'm bringing the future funk Ask me if I give a fuck If someone you know has done it before Will do it no better, then no doubt about it Them motherfuckers ain't about it
At least I got my Pip-Boy, least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip Least I, least I got my Pip-Boy Least I got my Pip
You see the land radiate in the missions It's clear to me now That everybody you know is dead and gone underground Them bodies never found But now they're here and it's on The ghost that scared them the most Was they own soul You may not understand where I'm, where I'm at in my mind But you gon' know by the time we're done killing your time I'm not a rapper I'm an entity who know how to rhyme I dare you to find another light be in our time
He skates, smokes, drinks (Yeah) and even takes psychedelics (Whoa) He gets so pissed that he breaks shit in his room (God damn it) Shortly before fucking his bitch to sleep (Moaning) He's Ghostemane Weekdays at 9 Only on
Compositor: Eric Whitney (Ghostemane) ECAD: Obra #22612830