Everything I can't Handle - Taylor Bennett

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Soon as I glow up I need jeans that cost five thousand

I need a new private jeweler to send me pictures of new shit

I need that Gucci connection

I need to fuck my own tutor

I need to call up the homies and ball so hard while we losin'

I could call up to Jordan and tell him mama wore Puma’s

Tell 'em endorse my albums and if they don’t then they ruined

Want a skyscraper, no no more favors

Make me sleep better, want my mink sweater

Don’t wanna get back to nobody, just wanna eat better

Wanna do better, want my ice wetter

Want my wife cheddar, fuck a pre-nup

Nigga 'cause if we blood, and we cous'

Then we good

Eat up, while we kick our feet up

That’s it

How dare you lose this gift, I made you to make a man

To make amends and spend this money on coked out bitches

Bottles of elegance is relevant, than what’s the point of melanin

All these lies of tellin', retellin' resellin', sell again

Nigga if it’s heaven or earth than tell me what’s in the end

Darkness and abysses, obituaries that’s never said

Block boys never reaching tabloids or tablets

Never closed cases, but always for closed caskets

And you want a number one while a mother’s son lungs gaspin'

Let’s take it back, and yo' little scummy ass ain’t have a dollar

And yo' daddy done left yo' momma on the South Side of Chicago

And you was contemplatin' suicide

'Cause why the fuck was you alive

I gave music, I gave paper, than I put your ass on papers

You wrote «Dancing In The Rain»

When you ain’t had no plans to play it

Now you won, a major making

Put your program in the matrix

Bottle copping, pussy popping

Treating women like an auction

Gave you everything that you window shop for inside that office

Taylor Bennett can you resort to service this Sunday?

I know you think that you got it

But God, it keep giving me something

Tell 'em that you’re bisexual, especially intellectual

Preferably moving decimals, destiny so perpetual

A rapper professional and treat microphones like confessionals

Until you’re and extra-terrestrial, this is more than a blessing, son

You know you ain’t grow up on a runway

Momma put church on Sundays

My sundowns sat down, no

My homework done, still no fun play

No iPhones, iPads, or nothing more integrated

Discussions, I should have grown up in D. C

Just more and more about nothing

My inspiration was hustling

Finessing dope from a customer, I’ll say

My intuition lacked the vision of what I imagined

Staring deep distance at the light while the tunnel collapsing

And I got both hands up, like don’t shoot

That’s a black nigga’s daddy

From what I’ve seen I’ve got my eyes on that one takin' prize

Being rich, black in America when I’m 25

'Cause if you come from where I come from that’s a feast for sore eyes

'Cause if you came from where I came you in jail or you died

I like to light another instant and instantly vibe

And then that stray had found its way, and you instantly die

That was back in '05, now little bro, big bro had been died

No AK’s, ladies, babies on daily’s make me crazy

God don’t hate me, I’m just lazy

I don’t try, 'cause if I try then I might fail and then they’ll hate me

I don’t ask for what’s not handed

I want everything that’s granted

I just want it, I don’t plan it

Room for unexpected damage

I want money, I want camera’s

Everything that I can handle