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| Title: |
Lost In the Studio |
| Artist: |
Dizeazed
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| Description: |
03/03/08 Why hasn't Diz been making tracks like he used to? Where the hell did he go!? This track attempts to give answers to questions such as these.
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| Lyrics: |
Verse I:
It’s like Uh oh, uh oh, really you just never know
When Diz’ll get on a roll and come out with a new flow
Leaving yall fuckers like, “Whoa! You better take it slow
Diz we all know how you act once you get outta control!”
Blaow, killing the noise, I’m on a roll
You feel it, you can bounce with each and every syllable
It’s hopping in your veins, it’s stirring up in your brain
Like the symptoms you be sporting right before you go insane
Just run away, hop in your ride, or catch a train
Cause once I’m in your city it’ll never be the same
You can spot me, saggy pockets from the loose change
Dirty shoes, hairy face and laugh a little strange
Really though, I’m out of this world with my thoughts
They distract me, making me pause like I forgot
What I was saying……
See… That’s exactly what I’m saying
Chorus:
Uh oh, uh oh, what happened to the show
People be asking me where the hell did I go
I just scratch my head cause really I don’t even know
So I tell them that I got lost in the studio
Verse II:
Pops cut me off, finances a little low
Got a new job, and slowly I’m learning as I go
But it’s frustrating yo, cause soon as I’m out the door
I got 20 hours of homework from two weeks ago
Fuck man, give me a break, soon as I wake
15 minutes late, without any breakfast on the plate
Try to get to class, don’t even care about if I pass
My mind is always focused on some other random task
That’s irrelevant, kinda like it’s evident
That no matter what I say or do I’ll always be compared to Eminem
Try to learn from mistakes, instead I make them twice
Tired all throughout the day but never fall asleep at night
So I wanna run away, escape this reality
But when I listen to a beat I got nothing to say
I’m drained, no creativity left inside my pen
My alarm is going of…. Here we go again
Chorus
Verse III:
I’m a boss cat, switching it up then cross back
So twisted with my style I’m spitting raw whack
Sick with the game, I hack and cough rap
So when I puke on the wax, it’s fact you’ll cop that
Mad Max grimy mixed with Tai Chi
Kicking shit till I die, kinda like Bruce Lee
I got some content that you might not like
When I’m naked in the booth, and I stroke my mic
That’s why I keep to myself, how I sneak on the cell
And send pics of myself to these chicks that are twelve
I got toys in my belt, and porn on the shelf
I’m a Dateline predator planning to go to jail
So when I make the videos and put them up for sale
You can get the whole set for the price of my bail
And that’s that, all of my rap can eat shit
Not a track in 8 months, and this is what you get, son of a bitch
Chorus
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