SLOW DOWN

VERSE I
we always in a hurry to get where we goin’
‘til somethin’ slows us down and keeps us from glowin’
prevents us from showin’-n-tellin’, inhalin’, exhalin’
watch yo ass or you’ll be beggin’ someone to bail you outta jail, man…
hey…that’s how it usually goes down
walk, jog, run, trip…face down on the ground
wake up and smell the concrete…
why kids gettin’ high huffin’ freon—the answer is beyond me,
but the question rings oh, so clear
I worry about my speed-freak friends, while I’m guzzlin’ a beer
yeah…and then I have a real disturbing realization…
everyone’s addicted to somethin’—ain’t they—face it…
it’s the truth and that’s all I’ll speak
absolute truth, that is, G-O-A-to the T
it’s plain to see…some things are beyond reach
speak up, enounce clearly ‘stead of blurrin’ your speech—take it slow…

CHORUS
wake up and smell the concrete…everyone’s addicted
wake up and smell the concrete…everyone’s addicted to somethin’, ain’t they?

VERSE II
I’ve got more than 1 scar on my face from stupid mistakes
even had to have plastic surgery—stitches didn’t seal my case
and after that, I still take 5 shots of Patron
in a row and not think twice before I drive home alone
at 25 years old—my doc’s tellin’ me—it’s real
got blood work done—liver levels high—I need to chill
at this rate—tolerance steep—could drink a river
in 10 years, my liver’ll be shriveled from liquor
I betta slow down…and take time to smell
some of the agriculture…maybe we’ll live to tell
a lil somethin’ to our children…or maybe someone else’s
make specific distinctions ‘tween Heaven, Earth, and Hell
we gotta fucked-up focus—all ‘bout money,
but what can I say? hunger pains in my tummy
it’s funny…not really—reality sucks
well when you’re not livin’ it right, it sure does

CHORUS
fucked-up focus…I need to chill…tolerance is steep…could drink a river
fucked-up focus…I need to chill…all about money

VERSE III
ay, do me a favor…at least once a day
tell your blood you love ‘em and say it straight to their face
or even through an email, text message, or phone call
death creeps closer every breath…there’s no stalls,
but honestly, I don’t know what I’m preachin’
I betta listen to myself, hell, I’m my own teacher
and you’re your own teacher too…
no body listens to one another, we all seekin’ our own food
we hungry—in this heat, its cold dude
I ain’t say shit, but I told you—shoooot…
and best believe I’ll tell you again
follow your gut feeling and stay close to your kin—slow your roll main…

CHORUS
I ain’t say shit, dude, but I told you…shoot