The Breaking Point - Burt Bacharach, Chuck Jackson

Yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh

Look

Too many missed classes

Too many missed calls

Too many late nights

Too many with-drawls

Under pressure, time waits for no man

Even though I flow colder than a snowman

Nothing gets a girl hotter than a slow-jam

Take it from a kid in touch with his grown man

No plan for now, used to have it mapped out

The life that I live is the life I rap about

Maybe I’m dreaming

Maybe I’m fine

Maybe I just write it down cause I got it on my mind, man

It’s not a biography, it’s a rhyme

Reality or thoughts, either way this shit’s mine

Listen to my flow, get into my mind

Can you feel the urgency, I’m running out of time

(Let's go, let’s go, we gotta go, hurry up)

I gotta blow up

Quickly, Baby it’s me

I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but I hope you don’t miss me

Like I’ve been missing you

And I’ve been meaning to call

They said I’d get the money, I ain’t seen it at all

What am I doing, what type of career am I pursuing

You see the cats winning, you don’t see the ones losing

See my team working, don’t see my team snoozing

Foot on my pedal till I know my crew’s in

I’m all stressed, feel like I’m the best

But I gotta lot of weight that I gotta get off of my chest

Got a brain for straight 'A's

Hate the grey days

I’m late for vaca', I got no patience

I’ve been in the basement too long

Mom called, told me I said a bad word in my new song

I hate that shit

I wanna make her proud

But everything I like is everything I’m not allowed

Find a line, try to walk it

Find the right words, try to talk it

Not good enough, I’m off it

Feel like I’m a target, turn that shit around

Kill a critique with a 16, try to put me down

I’m a good book, got a good girl, she a good look

Hard to make a good song work without a good hook, these days

It’s late, but I’m on at night, like PJ’s

They kill for this like free-jays

(Let's go, let’s go, we gotta go, hurry up)

Yeah, uh

Get a job, Pat

What’cha getting that degree for?

Why you go from a four-oh to a three-four?

Take them headphones off, put the phone down

Pull your pants up, don’t you know you’re grown now?

So what, you’re saying the good days are done?

Odds might be against me, but I might be the one

Bet it, and write the date down when I said it

Don’t you forget it

Flow so unique, rare like red meat

I kill rhymes and create haters so give me credit for these dead beats

It’s on like that, night time got me gone like that

Take your queen with a pawn, like that

It’s no problem, smarter than these little bitty idiots

Get the bread diviate, give it to my affiliates

Easy, right?

But they wanna take the kid down

All I hear is bitches, I leave the lid down