Artist: Slaine f/ Lou Armstrong, Patrick Starr, Moroney, Blanco
Album:  The Boston Project
Song:   Something to Believe In
Typed by: Matt Jost

[ VERSE 1: Lou Armstrong ]
Every day I wake up to the same shit, I been cakin
But nowadays more niggas hatin
Geah, they in the cut sittin patient
Waitin for me to meet God or Satan
Geah, I'm in the streets where the killers roam
Them villains know if you fake like silicone
He talk about it but inside the kid a clone
And under pressure he'll fold, man, I shoulda known
Shit I deal with tryina make a mill quick
Still sick, can't find a real chick to chill with
I know about a dollar, neck frozen by the collar
Them 0's and them commas, goons holdin on the lamas
Tec blowin for the drama, got a Trojan for your mama
While she blowin on this cama gettin low in the Bahamas
Slaine said, Lou, get on some lyrical shit
It's a miracle I ain't spiritual the shit that I lived
That real street shit, real niggas did I eat with
Let the heat spit, get caught and don't see shit
Runnin with killers of the grittiest kind
It's Lou Armstrong a/k/a the City Is Mine

[ VERSE 2: Patrick Starr ]
Three things I hate: girls, women and bitches
Spit venom, I ha-spit, Vivica licked it
Cynical fit, a lyrical dick, I'm hot
My tip is dipped in Miracle Whip - I'm not
To be fucked with - period lips
With them pyramids I'm buried with spiritual sphinx
Next to me, your whole crew is a terrible mix
I'm a don, you're a pawn, America's bitch
And you're quick to verticle flip
Which means you snitch if heard of a tip
Bitch nigga, skin you and turn you to mix
Magic, similar to when Ervin was sick
Tragic, that -- a turban that ticks
Blowin up memorial satorial, showin it's fixed
You're an orphan and me I done fathered you
And often I'm awesome, the chips I done offered you
It's big deal but the deal might costed you

[ VERSE 3: Moroney ]
Moroney, I'm the best bar none
These lame-ass rappers got bars none
I shit bars, it's a bar stool
High off halucinogenics, looks like a cartoon
Spark ghouls, harpoons, I harm dudes
Wet him up while he in the whip, that's a car pool
Your girlfriend is a bitch and you R2
But she's down for the D2, so don't argue
Fly talker, Skywalker, high offa that sour pack
Holler back if you let your dollar strack
Cats try to hate but take pics and ask for autograph
Copy cats, hang 'em up to dry like a towel rag
I told y'all I ain't the runner-up
I'm so high I'm literally running up
Blunted up with two L's, it's a double dutch
I'm on the bottom she's on the top, I'm coming up

[ VERSE 4: Blanco ]
The Bean ready homie, got 'em droppin like right now
Them things heavy on me, get it poppin like right now
Y'all better back down, quiet that hype down
I have some niggas right now lyin yo ass down
Cause when the beef come these niggas never there
We gon' bring it to your mans or whoever there
I got them dudes on the streets and they well prepared
Bullets cross your bones, you can see we ain't never scared
You can see that we everywhere
O-Town to Beantown, BX to B-more
Still on the block tryina see checks to see more
And we ain't gon' stop till the whole team eat more
We hit makers, we get paper
Get chicks that's tasters, ( ? ) said it the best
And we ain't gon' stop, never put it to rest
( ? ) motherfucker, we the best of the best

[ VERSE 5: Slaine]
Look we all need somethin to believe in
In this world I live inside, yeah it's trife
You can pray to Jesus Christ all your fuckin life if you like
You can be the white picket fence type with the wife
You can knock her up twice, ain't no fuckin Christmas lights from the pipes
You know that bitch is trife
When you come home from work and you find her gettin piped
By some jerk, do you kill her with a knife?
Cause the world crushed all that you believe in
And she's livin with the mailman in your crib
And your kids call him daddy while their mama drive a Caddy
That those cocksuckers paid for with your bread
I would rather sip Goose from a plastic cup
Get sucked by my braod till I crash the truck
I would rather quit a job where they treat me like a slob
Turn a motherfuckin mall to a massacre
Swear to God I ain't livin like a dog
I'm takin what I want till I'm livin in the prison or a morgue
Talkin to myself, the television isn't on
Smokin chron on the lawn writin rhythms to a song
That's who I been, man, who I always be
I'm still the same kid back from the hallways, G
So fuck you if the world's against me
I change the story all around - I'm a MC