Lyrics Groundwork - Wrekonize

Let's go to church, you ever get that feeling?
And you don't know exactly what to do with yourself?
Hm, yeah I get that too
Out of minds of devil's playground
(Let's go!)

Spit frame, quit pick this lane
Fork in the road as if there is a choice to skip pain
I never could see the irony before
Would program the shop before we even get inside the store
A cheap scan, but focus on the task at hand
I'm on the beach, I could be living out the basic stand
Trying to box with a shattered hand
But I've been doing this before pimps out screaming "Damn it, man"
Ok, see I been holding the music
Like my woman on the death bed, please booth trough this
Can pay the bills with my amusement
Should have feel like B-Real, the way I sit still can be it's illusions
At least I like to write so far
I could be holding on the dear life with both arms like solo
Now let me stop, cause who knows the realest story
I let backs, lit my axe, nobody does my feeling, draw me
Fame's a bitch, yeah, when infamy's a bleeding one
That nose upon your soul until you lose it new speaking tongues
Still we chasing for the dough, when yet not squeezing one
Because props won't save my life the day I need a gun
Break habits and you might just even make classic
Create addicts out of listeners who hate rap, huh
Who wouldn't let before Sunday
I'm trying to see the top tonight, so motherfuck some day
Stumbling 'round drunk on south beach
I'm feeling I could keep it on strong 'til the doubt sees
You catch me kicking downtown in my house pleads
Who knows who abose catch boths in the mouth piece
Shake limits and take it to fake gimmicks
Even create image, shit do what you must to break ground
I'm in it for great living, the fanning and great giving
Man my kingdom was made to break ground
To break ground, to break ground, to break grou-ah-ah-ound
To break ground, to break ground, to break grou-ah-ah-ound

Ok, pass me a puff up the DMT
So I can hit it 'til I'm snap it like I'm TMZ
I do the shit here so easily
I'm ready to let go off the pass now, who the fuck needs CD's?
High attended not at one day of college
But I got enough gray hair still match a mastics mileage
You need sympathy, shit you out of luck
I'm riding down the block, bumping Yelawolf
I'm feeling arrogant as fuck
I'm loving living this Miami life
And if I go back on my word, Jesus Christ you can [?] twice
This shit's a game show, this [?] to kill the audience
And set so you [?] it, because it seem a lot of hits
Like anyone can blow for [?]
And how the majors wanna act like all the artists now on [?]
The end is near, I hit a punchline
You best start it on your buckle list, believe that I'll be gunman

(What in the hell are they waiting for?)