In The Rain With Dog's

by Matthew Reid





I think I've found my nitch as an artist. What I mean is that I've gotten to a point with rap where I'm extremely confident and comfortable with my writing and thought process. These last two and half years since I released any material have been hellacious and rewarding.

My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago and it was fucking devastating. It hit my family and I like a fucking tornado. Not only was it unexpected, it put things in perspective. You realize what's important in life and who's important in life. It was a never ending occurrence of doctors, misinformation,and daily visits to MD Anderson. On top of that my father had open heart surgery while we were dealing with breast cancer b.s. It was a nonstop year of becoming a hospital junkie without that ever being my intention.

I was in love with someone while all of this was occurring. To be honest it was the best relationship I had ever been in. She was everything I wanted from appearance, to personality, same university, etc. I loved just staying at home on a Saturday laying on her watching Netflix, or going to a new restaurant in Houston. I had never been with someone who made me feel all gushy about them consistently throughout a relationship. Yet with all the good times, the bad times were really magnified and eventually it led to a nasty break up. Now, I was fine with the reasoning for the end because those signs were clearly evident. But the way we broke up was nasty. I'd never been treated like dirt before nor have I ever had anyone come at me like that. It was heart breaking to me because my image of someone I thought I knew was tarnished and destroyed and I was being forced to accept the true nature of this person.

Like always I threw my pain into writing. That's all I do and pride myself on. As I have stated plenty of times before, I view rap in the same relation of art. Its an arena where I control the content and have a say in things for once. That's why I think I've found my nitch. On this record I didn't care anymore. Didn't care how people will perceive the things that I say because its not for them. This is my therapy and as an artist I'm always going to be honest and talk about what's real. I can only present myself in the truest nature. I don't know how much more time I have left on Earth, but I would say that right now at twenty five this is my most purest material I have ever conceived.


released April 11, 2016

Written By: Matthew Reid (Aug. 2013-Mar. 2016)
Recorded: Sep. 2015- Mar. 2016 (360 Recording Studios)
Genre: Houston Rap, Alternative Rap
Label: PWE
Produced By: Matthew Reid, Evan Turnet, Tavis Porter, Fon$o The Giant, Various Prod.
Executive Produced By: Luis Morales
Audio Engineer: Jessica Garcia
Edited By: Matthew Reid, Jessica Garcia
Artwork: Matthew Reid July 23, 2015
Influence: The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill



all rights reserved


Matthew Reid Houston, Texas

Matthew Reid is from Houston, Texas.

His influences include: Eminem, Common, Biggie, Kanye West, Outkast, and Lauryn Hill

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Track Name: Another Wack Day
Written By: Matthew Reid Aug. 18, 2014; Feb. 20, 2015
Produced By: A Tribe Called Quest, Matthew Reid
Contains Portions of: "Clap Your Hands" by A Tribe Called Quest
"Nautilus" by Bob James
"Hand Clapping Song" by The Meters
"Ode to Billy Joe" by Lou Donaldson

Man I've been hanging with the group, we get loose and then abuse.
I wanna ball and hoop, but then I sick/ any leg Carmelo knee yeah it sucks man New York Knicks.
My life it is the flick, you can still have your pick/ watch me go and get a sip as that blunt is fucking lit.
The routines and parties, my girlfirends she's a hottie/ sometimes I'm acting naughty, guarantee that I'm not sloppy.
With the current that we're on and the Wavves it makes it choppy/ these people wannna knock me, there's no way that they can stop me.
My imaginary friend likes to smoke and just fit in/ never fucking standing out man he's still awkward shuts his mouth.
We jaywalk in the street, as the cop he fucking sneaks/ getting closer as he creeps, bullet blasts another sleeps.
It's like black kids and riots, the violence I might try it/ our rights man I cry it, freedom papers I might buy it.
The TV's and black bats, break shit attack that/ and if they might fight back we'll bomb them like Baghdad.
And if i'm coming back again guarantee my niggas free.
This ice bucket challenge as I freeze for proceeds/ guarantee that I'm a slave its another whack day yeah.
Another whack day, its just another whack day.
Aint to really much that I can really fucking say, yeah it's just another whack day
yall know the situations dear, we know that ISIS made it clear/ Malaysian planes are my fear, don't wanna fucking die this year.
The LeBron James of rap put the city on the map/ put the city on my back, man climbing layers giving back.
I always hang on Scott St. fucking smoking Houston trap/ conversation mind lapse, the memories the equal laugh.
The contradiction here is your white and your black? you look skinny were you fat? couple more questions I might snap.
Still, 80 degrees as you tell that bitch please/ grab her shirt rip her sleeve, in the bathroom with the steam.
I think I've found greatness, and then my eyes gleam/ and every time we get together its low key my eyes bleed.
I rip them hoes out throw that shit on the ground/ its too hard to get around, Craigslist and smoke a pound.
My easy self defense is to put my self down. fucking quit and fucking drown, your a fucking loser now.
This life has a gun, bullet hit me like pow/ plus it ripped my eye brow, and I got a fever Mi;Dal.
I love it when you stare, keep a curl up in her hair/ but the dream is getting scary cause I lose and it's not fair.
These niggas wanna kill me/ I let that shit happen.
We fucking in the kitchen, channel surfing TV switching/ biting necks and baby kisses, arguments and fucking disses.
I wanna float away, gimmie a gun and I may/ fuck "Another White Day" its a fucking crazy day. Uh.
Track Name: Six, Six Thirty
Written By: Matthew Reid Nov. 14, 2015
Produced By: Timbaland, Matthew Reid
Contains Portions of: "Hola' Hovito" by Jay-Z
Yeah, I'm about the Friday nights/ we're your chilling with your niggas and everything is right.
We went to the Michael Show, obviously just high/ the art was too fly man got to love the Houston nights.
Now that's what I said before, moving force and changing course/ first date hold your purse, I will pay now calm your nerves.
This rap is just practice, there's four seconds left/ I pull a James Harden break your ankles lose your step.
The past indiscretions I guess we will forget/ do a Houston tour bring the city the allure.
I'm looking for my antidote, left it at my night show/ people hear my music and this is what they know, yo.
I'm a tall mutha fucker/ this same mutha fucker takes your girl and he uncuff's her.
And your not mad at me it's your girl you just cuss her/ I fucking take your green and smoke your shit you fucking buster.
Yeah, you're Douglas, except I'm not no Tyson/ cause if you knock me down, I'm back up and I'm fighting.
Don't fuck with Morales, he's here and he's riding/ drives the dad car, it's his style that they biting.
We at the Rocket's game and the people talking shit/ but they cant hang with me because the comebacks are too quick.
I'm too sarcastic, like I said it's practice/ when it fucking hits you, you're wondering what happened.
Now, this is the shit/ I'm feeling life but I sleep with the bullet.
Her ex boyfriend is a gun, so we fucking dueling/ my life has no worth so the trigger he just puling.
Now there go the tendencies, now they all believing me/ they never wasn't feeling me, now they wanna see me.
Believe me, this shit is overwhelming/ the critics got a name fucking snitching rover telling.
I've got to get it straight, what they saying to my face/ they want to hate on UH, but the ten and O is great.
Hold on brother, you see you've almost won the race/ the critics will just say they we're wrong now let us pray.
Track Name: Bell STN
Written By: Matthew Reid Sep. 12, 2015; Oct. 17, 2015
Produced By: Fugees, Matthew Reid
Contains Portions of: "I Only Have Eyes For You" by The Flamingos.
" Zealots" by The Fugees
Okay, let me tell you about the realness/ when your mother still sick now nigga that's the real shit.
I wanna kiss Marysa, and that's just how I'm feeling/ have a million little kittens and stack money to the ceiling.
Rap is like a sore, Matthew Reid he be the healing/ niggas like to judge but they don't know how I'm dealing.
Dealing with a head with thoughts that's laced led/ that are deadly bring the fed's, on a blog with Perez.
A Houston autumn day, it's just like when she lay/ with an Iowa sweatshirt, the eyes they make my nerves hurt.
This is what fucking hurts, getting money shitty work/ breaking up fuck that derp, moving on the feelings hurt.
I'm tired of life I don't even know my worth/ getting money from my mother, might as well just steal her purse.
Man I cant take the bullshit, my life is so wrong/ and I'm down on my knees praying and thanking god
Man I'm like some people, my evil makes me deceitful/ as I wonder if she legal, kiss my neck man I guess we equal.
Man I'm so fucking talented, I can rap like Gambino/ slow my fucking verse down, get high at the casino.
I'm about smoking blunts, oh what's up? nothing much/ I was busy getting bud, had a billion by the lunch.
When I fucking look back, I would say she was a punk/ a fucking dumb bitch who couldn't make a nigga bust.
I'm sitting on the surface, these niggas be my servants/ they kinda hate me but it's my album that they purchase.
My dialogues Muslim, that shit is kinda perfect/ and send her to Hell because you know that she deserve it.
Now here's the fucking issue, I've got a master plan/ it involves getting nasty girl, be my wingman.
Girl like Molly Q, relationship purse/ and for you biting Zealot's here's an answer and a clue.
Another MC lose they life/ the Lauryn Hill rhymes, is the vibe that we try.
I love my pretty mother the sickness makes me cry/ and to them Houston women, I'm still that handsome guy.
Track Name: Crew Socks
Written By: Matthew Reid Dec. 17, 2015
Produced By: Fon$o The Giant
My blackness please tell me how I permit it/ the shit is an outfit that fat hoes never fit in.
My jokes are for whites, the whites never get it/ my jokes are for blacks, the blacks never get it.
They treat me like a card, yeah you're race you just flip it/ do it to fit in when you wanna just kick it.
This life is a train that'll make you go insane/plus you take another rail, the relationship you fail.
Your girlfriend, was black your girlfriend was white/ it doesn't even matter cause its issues you just fight.
I walk thin line between both but I'm not mixed/ they take my black card, yo that they wanna rip.
Yeah, and that be yourself/ growing up black nigga, this is how I felt.
Now let me tell you fucks about growing in the brubs/ way before the herb, I was a little black kid.
Who didn't fit in social status makes no sense/ it's the early nineties and you niggas don't pay no rent?
Never had a stench, Jordan's on his shoes/ Olajuwon jersey, Power Rangers too.
Lost my first tooth, to be honest it was weird/ not my damn tooth, no black kids around.
The nineties H-Town, it was Christian man doubt/ that seeing blacks successful made these people lose they mouth.
I didn't understand that back then when a friend/ would invite me over it was reparations ends.
Interracial love it's around everywhere/ so why when I have one I fucking stared.
Still a little scared to defend myself to cops/"officer it's him" yet I get shot.
My reality popped when I moved downtown/ bums in the trash, this is H-Town.
I think about my ex and why'd we even fight/ I was the black one, she was the pretty white.
But I love her so much we'd blend in at night/ aggression and insults were her appetite.
Getting mistreated, that's my new plight/ I need to catch a Soulplane fucking take a flight.
Track Name: The Interlude
Wrtten By: Matthew Reid Mar. 4, 2015
Produced By: Mobb Deep, Matthew Reid
Contains portions of: "Eye for an Eye (Your Beef Is Mines)" by Mobb Deep; "I Wish You Were Here" by Al Green
So finally I fucking be that 'illest nigga that you see/ Matthew Reid the pearly teeth, putting ganja in stream.
The arguments ensue, I stand in front of Congress/ "I work for the people" to them man that's ebonics.
What's my thoughts man of life?, it sits near the bone/ it inflates and grows, depression? Oh fo sho'.
I hate that fucking shit, its wrong and its cruel/ the alterior objective, Murder Inc. like Ja Rule.
I'm posted on this stool, ponder the MVP/ James Harden he's for real always hitting fucking three's.
Let's stir up the pot, put it away block is hot/ this bullet hurts like a clot, fucking is still soft?
There's Reeboks with no socks, hate the squabbles hate the squawk/ I wanna fuck her Bangkok, Jessica man it wont stop.
I think that I'm alright, my rap bulb still bright/ I could rhyme everynight, but I'm stuck on fucking flights
Still glyde like I'm Clyde, put your middle finger to the sky/ there's a fucking reason why, that Matthew Reid is fucking fly.
He encompase reality progression of rap/ mainstream is sacked with a tackle Warren Sapp.
Track Name: Bored At Work
Written By: Matthew Reid Nov. 19, 2015
Contains Portions of: "Death of YOLO" by Joey Badass
Man I'm the life of the party/ niggas getting mad like my name is Greg Hardy.
The rap is some food, and you see we just starving/ you know we have no mercy, my nigga we just carving.
So come get a plate my nigga just stop barking
My lifes in pieces, deceive it, and you teethless/ and if you're just late it makes it hard to read this.
Believe this, I'm scrubbing pots for a lot/ I'm the nigga who thinks Tinashe's real hot.
It's sixteen, and I resistate hip-hop/ if you fall on this jock i''ll toss you like flip flops.
They're off the bandwagon, so what if we lost/ you'll get a free slushie, my ex she's too ugly.
I look at this summer, then focus on this year/ thirteen is lucky they began to fear the beard.
Then came the projects, then came the tears/ you fucking break up being alone is what you fear.
Father has surgery, mother has surgery/ I try to keep a hard face but open heart is hurting me.
These are the struggles and this is my life/ I'm a suburb fuck who people mistake for white.
The green abusing, you know this game I'm losing/ where niggas get down mutha fucka why you shootin?
Yo, I've two crazy thoughts/ my brain is untamed cant put it in a box.
I wanna rap with 'Kis be the new age Lox/ I know these niggas saying when the fuck yo album drop.
I'm on the fucking roll and you know that I wont stop/ till I get to the top and I kick yall like rocks.
Not from New York, but I wear Pro Era/ with the hat and the sweater, be the freshest in the weather.
I try to come through but she say we not together/ but she'll fucking come back when she smells my fucking chedda'
Get it? I'm talking money out the door/ where niggas get down mutha fucka whats in store.
My rap is so dope, if you hate you cant ignore/ fucking get down on the floor let me see how you adore.
Track Name: Got Five; Got Ten
Written By: Matthew Reid Oct. 19, 2013
Produced By: Tavis Porter
Man i've got 5 man i got 10
man she got 5 and she got 10
man we got 5, we feeling it, man this it.
To broke to get that dro, i wanna get some honey but i cant afford,
to lose this high cause you never know, reggie's all we can afford.
With no dollars in our pockets scrounging quarters by the door,
lets hit the coinstar man at the fucking Kroger's store.
What about the Swisher's? we'll steal 'em with the liquor,
man i'll flirt with the clerk, watch me kiss her and i'll kick her.
I got em man lets run, leave my morals with the sun,
man burning up and turning up
man the weed aint green man it's ferning up.
These niggas aint had enough, man Matthew wont you light this up?
I annote you with the trust man you hold that puff and you blow it up.
I think this weed it sucks, man thats not cool man what the fuck?
and after all of that, my high was just a bust.
The dealer looked to fake, girly shot em his knuts,
and i want my money back, ayo we'll hit em with your truck.
My problems a little lifted, plus the status here has shifted,
i can light this with my finger so you know that i am gifted.
Track Name: Stereotypes Of A Race
Written By: Matthew Reid May 26, 2015
Produced By: Dr Dre
Contains portions of: "Deep Cover" by Dr. Dre feat. Snoop
Okay, run and grab your gat, nigga run and grab yo hat/ mutha fuckas will react to the verbs that you rap.
There's camera's all around paranoid hows that sound/ if I hear a pencil drop I will hit the fucking ground.
We went to the shop, the fucking neighborhood spot/ Houston, Texas parking lot, they selling drugs by the box.
We walked inside Starburst gummies by my side/ plus the cigarillos there they got my flavor I might cry.
Soon as I hand my money, this niggas acting funny/ he was looking kinda bummy, fucking said his name is rummy.
Shook my hand, then began to fill it in/ the herb "H" tendencies, I'm always fitting in.
"Woop, Woop" shit man there goes the siren/ if we get caught you best believe that we lying.
The cop wants to shoot me, wants to see me dying/ he noticed the dreads and probably thought I was supplying.
Officer I'm trying to go and state my case/ don't judge me as a hood, the "Stereotypes Of A Race"
There was red on the face, 'scuse me sir as I wait/ He went to the car and pretty soon I'll know my fate.
This mutha fucker here probably never shed a tear/ and even if he shoot me the law has his rear.
The politics don't matter integrity is gone/ and all these diplomats sing they all sing the same song.
Its so wrong and so gone, niggas act like Protons/sharing electric, Covalent Bond.
I have no alibi then it fucking catch my eye/ I think I might die, god tell me is it light?
A bullet hits my temple theres evidence around/ the other cops come try to get it off the ground.
I think I might die and I think I might go/ and if I do I hope you come fucking come to the show.
Track Name: First Week (Brunette In Jeans)
Written By: Matthew Reid Aug. 25, 2014
Produced By: Mobb Deep, Matthew Reid
Contains Portions of: "Cradle to the grave" by Mobb Deep. "And If I Had" By Teddy Pendergrass
Let me get up on the scene, let me get up on the scene/ these niggas think they fuck with me?
Let me get up on the scene, let me get up on the scene/ mutha fucka spit yo peace, Matthew Reid.
Whatta I think of 23? what the fuck do you mean?/ when I'm blowing out steam from this very stick leaf.
My life is kinda slow, then it speeds up/ my hope he just smokes, then he leaves us.
I cant believe that I got to see beach/ we went to Venice hit the scene, it was niggas in between.
The philosopher of life, that's my main objective/ I'll sleep in your class, pass the elective.
I want some free time so you go and just let em/ but I get real scared because I know you'll just reject em.
This song is for Steadman, miss that man Tony/ nigga that was the homie, but now its so lonely.
So just see, ima Houston nigga/ and just reach to another limit.
There's no way I can send it, but my minds above pimpin/ so watch me go and split cause you know I want to win it
Now there's black kids in the streets as they mingle with police/ wanna ask for id bullet blast, another sleeps.
I wonder about my kids, if they're black if they're mixed/ if they walk into a store will cops just raise they're fucking fist?
Feel like I don't exist here's my political defense/ as Republicans get mad, we Democrats we offense.
I'm losing faith in the system, fuck school/ I'm never winning, cause the shit is always due and feels like I'm in detention.
Where the principal is mad, with my theory and math/ it's like the Iraq War plan, its the weapons that they have,
They say that Jesus wasn't black, Adult Swim man Boondocks pack/ it's the "Cradle To The Grave" and when I rap just feel my rath.
Track Name: Ain't No Thang (The TH)
Written By: Matthew Reid Aug. 3, 2013; Jan. 7, 2014; July 19, 2015
Produced By: Organized Noise
Contains portions Of: "Ain't No Thang" by Outkast
Ayo, good morning, that window, we're smoking just that endo,
thats making all the wind slow, im sticking in her penhole.
Im yawning and high, the misses thinks im bi,
i send someone my heart, a bullets her reply.
My demons going crazy, only thinking that im lazy,
as the women try to faze me, claiming that they wanna raise me.
I hit em with a stale face, watch her as she told me,
as she blasting out the oldies, as she's burning Macaroni,
Grill, i crush my pill, eating watching King of The Hill,
Bobbi's choking as he spills man Orange Juice unto his meal.
I feel the sensation, she's liking vibration,
hanging at the station, smoking all the Jamaican,
blunts she thinks she stuck, cause she sucked a happy knut,
made her hormones go nuts, help her grow her little butt.
The bitch is getting pregnant, no way can she help it,
no way can she sell it, this hook man she felt it.
"Aint no thang but a chicken waaannng,
we havin a smoke out at the TH niggas blowing daaannk."
It's just the pimps, niggas, whos squeezing out they trigga,
it's all about the mutha fucking 'ses, its the point. x2
I have this red head who's checkin, im wood peckin,
man country girls and Stetsons, man Dallas Texas always flexin.
Everynight we always fight but shes holding out a light,
holding hands and drinking Sprite, pissing test and baby fright.
Canadian chicks hatch eggs and just lift,
doing back flips as they dip, man blasting Drake and sucking dick.
I love my whores, who's fucking stranger then The Door's,
man Edie Sedgewick crawling floors, man kitty cat, man lions roar.
We do it in the bed room, we do it in bathroom,
we do it like we have to, i smack her and i grab too.
Like Taylor Swift met Andre, 3000 and the heart ache,
the child's what they offerin', she's caramel and cocaine.
Kirko Bangz ladies bang, player status no mistake,
i see you hold your thang, reppin "H" man everyday.
Yeah, you know my beard is turning Harden,
we Rocket's just so starvin, Toyota Center see us larkin.
Let's drive to "The Height's" see the hipster status like,
blast my music think im tight, blast my album autumn nights.
So you did your own thing, guess we had to break up/ everytime I wake up my life seems to shake up.
And turn another level damn this shit sucks/ mothers still sick, man what the fuck.
It's still not clear swimming in the mud/ never getting married, never trusting lust.
I'm twenty five now, experiencing life/ you could've had it all rolling shot gun as the wife.
The issue was there it was there on the push/ had the hand on the toosh and her mouth near my bush.
Take a deep breath people just listen/ if you love someone tell em that you miss em.
And never abuse em, and never get mad/ cause you heard that your name was destroyed in my rap.
Cause when you look back I'll be happy and be glad/ to spit on you watch you fall and just laugh.
Track Name: Orange Leaves
Written By: Matthew Reid Nov. 4, 2013; July 19, 2015
Produced By: Evan Turner
Okay now Matthew spit this flow and Matthew get this doe,
your conscience is the door, that will help you see your goal x3
Okay now here's a god damn story when i was fucked up in the brain,
I was blowing hella dank man burning weight and sniffing cake.
Thats when i saw what happened, didn't know that i was reactin,
my conscience i was just lackin, that's why she keeps on snappin.
I wanted to find out, why you keep on frowning mouth,
everytime we pass each other, my voice it won't come out.
Its too scared unprepared, for the reaction and the stare,
man we're both too hard but deep down we really care.
Now if it's one thing that i hate i hate when you say my name,
asking questions im too private, shut your mouth you need to try it.
Cant enjoy the rewards working hard at a job,
liquor spilling as you sob, drown yourself in that pond.
I got my fucking check but the rent is up my fucking neck,
keeping track of my step knowing where i'll go next.
Man she cant forget the dumb ass missteps,
i was young and ambitious, my future i would live it.
Still tangled in my dreadlocks each one they got a problem,
plus i've got two fucking vines that i really fucking like.
This one fucking vine, god damn that vine is fine,
always rapping all the time, I would hit it every night.
But then this other vine, she still wont just try/
she still wont get high, that's why I might cry.
Cause now we're fucking stuck, and I wanna give up,
Matthew Reid, the president of the 27 club. uh.
Track Name: Janet's Poetic Way
Written By: Matthew Reid Sep. 11, 2015
Produced By: Janet Jackson, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Matthew Reid
Contains Portions of: "That's The Way Love Goes" by Janet Jackson
Yo, man don't disrespect me/ I'm a good boyfriend, never forget me.
I poured out emotions my heart was real heavy/ I once had a girl love her that was enough?
Rubbing the toes, wisdom encourage/ positive text when your class and your nervous.
Cuddles and the kisses, tacos on the daily/ sitting on your couch hearing how your day was crazy.
Cause that's how it goes/ when you think its one day, picnics and sunny days.
You thought in a few years you would propose/ now yall fucking hate, you once were so close.
Cause that's how it goes/ you wanna fucking tell her that you fucking got her.
Chilling at the crib bed sweats and Harry Potter/ you know that you'll prosper, want her to have your daughter.
Okay, I embarrassed my self and uh
Okay, with love I need some help but uh.
Can you blame me I was raised right/ so polite I hold the door for her at night.
But these girls nowadays in the head they aint right/ always wanna fight but hold you by they're fucking side.
I wanted to end good nice gesture I would try/ but she came at me like a US- Russian spy.
So here is the message/ stay with your goals always protect them.
If you treat women right, they take you for granted/ they'll come at you eyes big head slanted.
I was brought down to Earth, heart got planted/ I tried to move on but my hearts still damaged.
They don't like jazz or the Digable Planet/ and if I ever see her ill tell her to fucking can it.
But I still think them times, that ass in a dress/ she was my kitten in my arms I just caressed.
Who then got mad meowed and bit my neck/ I know she saw my message act like she aint check.
Track Name: Conversations With Distant Friends
Written By: Matthew Reid Sep. 9, 2014; Mar. 9, 2015
Produced By: Mobb Deep
Contains Portions of: "Temperature's Rising" by Mobb Deep, "UFO" by ESG, "Where Is The Love" by Patrice Rushen, an interpolation of "Body Heat" by Quincy Jones
What up conscience? Haven't seen you in a while/ I know your phone number, but its your number I never dial.
I've been lonely for a while I need your companionship/ your the Kobe to my Shaq as we sweep the championship.
I could really use a friend as this pressure never ends/ my life it could suspend but whats the concept if it ends.
There's no one to depend, they just all stare and question/ plus this one I really love likes to talk with interjections.
I just wanna stay low key and eat this damn hogie/ this industry is boring, I wanna quit if only.
I could find the certain way to just articulate/ how I'm felling everyday when my mind is not so great.
I hear the fucking rain, and then I step outside/ I fucking close my eyes man hoping that I'll be alright.
The rain hits the brow as it fucking trickles down/ plus it mutates with my skin now my skins no longer brown.
I smile with a scowl as I'm hiding from the crowd. plus theres people at my show I'm nervous cant do this now.
I sneak outside with my evil a surprise/ its like you get a Big Mac plus you supersize the fries.
The image in my brain makes me mad and just despise/ cause I hate my fucking image its the image that I fight.
In my hotel room. the bell hop will be here soon/ knocking on my door theres no response I'm dead he must assume.
My friends they're sad, but I think they saw it coming/ he was always really quiet his thoughts were up to something.
It's so unbecoming I hope you get this friend/ cause when you get back I might be gone and that's no sin
Matthew gets the doe, matthew gets the doe, matthew gets the doe fo sho
Cause the governments po, LA has the hoes/ good blow you know fo sho
What up Matthew? theres no way were here without you/ I hear your depression, your right I never doubt you.
Just know that I found you in a way better state/ but now you speak of death, that's lame a big mistake.
Your metaphors for whores make you rich and just explore/ this ugly dark world that you hate don't want no more.
Like Rashad in ATL all these problems equal hell/ even though you stay quiet, you get mad and I can tell
There's positives look you could be up in jail/ taking shit up the ass through the glass read the mail.
Theres people who just love you, do you wanna let them down/ plus your musics really hot if you die they'll change the sound.
Take a break and sit down as we both smoke this pound/ need to fix your self respect and ima fucking show you how.
You put down his "Journals" realize yall are different/ for one he liked the needles, its the cry for the attention.
You've got a good core, keeps it tight and never loose/ you already bring concern we don't need the breaking news.
I went to your house saw you locked your front door/ plus there was red up on the window made the scene so suspenseful.
I came through the back room, a shocking sad scene/ your laying on the ground, you don't move as I scream.
I see you took the fast way theres weapons all around/ I would fucking clear it up but the scene is famous now.
I mss you ass Matthew the sad part of life/ when you keep your frustations people ignore the signs
And when they realize there was nothing they can do/ they leave you alone and let fate kill you too, fo real