Reasons

I'm respected in this game, I've rocked every spot I've been in
 While you can't show your face like Islamic women rocking linen
 But I'm stuck living in mom's house without a fucking bed
 Cause these major labels put out wack emcees like Pumpkinhead
 So I ain't touching bread, I've been ducking feds
 Ain't even hustle for myself, I spent it on some cunt instead
 Got nothing left, every breath is harder than the last
 When success seems out of reach, slipping farther in the past
 That's why I'm trashed, sparking up this hash in a session
 Packing up more angel dust than the attic in heaven
 That's why I'm pissed off like having a bladder infection
 With broken catheters left in my dick when I have an erection
 It got me liable to snap in a matter of seconds
 Pulling Mac-11s like Pun from the back of an Acura Legend
 I just think of my future, past and the present
 Try to capture the essence and find some sort of lasting impression
 But all I found's a corrupt cop's act of aggression
 Grabbing me and smashing my head in with the back of his weapon
 That's why I'm beyond the blessings of a Catholic confession
 And why I take cash when the plate's passed for collection
 I've had it with being the illest rapper to step in
 Lacking success in the game when dudes bite like they don't have a reflection
 I've had it with these labels so I'm breaking the mold
 Cause they ain't just taking creative control, they're taking my soul!
 The reason I'm a liar, the reason I'm a thief
 The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat
 Is the reason you avoid me when I'm walking down the street
 And it's probably the same reason I'll end up deceased
 The reason I'm a liar, the reason I'm a thief
 The reason that I steal, the reason that I cheat
 Is the reason that I wild out and riot in the street
 And it's the same reason my fucking life will never have peace
 Yo I think about Hip-Hop and how they just take it away
 Cause I grew up when Wu-Tang got rotational radio play
 But nowadays if I say shit I'm nothing but a hater
 Til I pull a rusty razor and cut your face, like "fuck your paper!"
 Maybe I'm mad cause labels use food stamps to pay me
 But I can't be only one who'd rather hear Boot Camp than Jay-Z
 So yeah, I'm underground and my fans are backpackers
 But at least my fans don't buy mixtapes full of wack rappers
 I can't front, I listen when I'm in the club grabbing tits and
 The bass is so loud I don't hear the trash you're spittin'
 All that glamour, glitz and packs of crack you're flipping
 Won't be real 'til you stop bragging and say it was a bad decision
 If you're anything like me, you're poor with a tortured past
 Getting beat by pigs because your pants are half off your ass
 Ain't tossin' cash in photographs with some camera crew
 You was black and blue in handcuffs on New York Avenue
 That's the truth, that's the reason I'm almost suicidal
 Feeling out of place like Muslims with a Jewish bible
 Been taking drama from my baby mama, now my mind is gone
 Weight of the world's on my shoulders, and eight planets piled on
 Rifle drawn, pointed at the cops when you calling them
 Six million ways to die, I'll try all of them
 Holding a Glock and squeezing until they stop my breathing
 I know I'm crazy, don't ask me why, I got my reasons