My whole world is desolated, my dreams polluted.
I feel as if I cant see as I walk,
hear as I talk.
Its not imaginary, its so real
since its my life, no one can feel what I feel.
I hate coming out of my world, shit gets so hot
to find niggas who want to be something their not.
Half way crooks who don’t wanna do the time once caught,
haters who want what you bought.
Girls learning through mistakes, instead of what their parents should’ve taught.
My whole world is desolated, my dreams polluted.
I cant feel the things I should feel,
shit bangs back to back, with no time to heal.
So what if I’m too real and bitches don’t like me, what’s the big deal?
Its sad when a man’s kiss no longer means anything to me,
when a man wants “us” to be an “us”, who? We?
When a man hurts you so much,
when he reaches out to you and its no longer a gentle touch.
When those sweet some things in your ears become nothing
wondering if there’s a man out thereto turn nothing into something.
My whole world is desolated, my dreams polluted.
Is there something wrong with me when I no longer cry?
When I push myself so much because its too much to get by,
surrounded by cowardly niggas who hate life, wishing to die.
You see me? I want to make a difference in this world before touching the sky.
-Butta Love, the provocative verbalist
