Like in “Goodfellas,” but here there’s no Ray Liotta, no lead, we’re all soldiers, terracotta
There are far more losses than victories
There are three packs stashed under the hood
I’m talking about stuff you wouldn’t even name
Peace to my man with his hands in the fire
I’ve got fog in my head, this feels like London
My mind is blank, like I’m climbing mountains
I could change the world, but I can’t change my habits
I could scale the Carpathians and feel weightless
But I’ve got behavioral issues like the Magic Man
And my cousin’s stash has half the neighborhood crippled
(And if I don’t do it, someone else will
I tell myself while I look into a broken mirror
Wondering why these rappers want to be like us)
If they were, they wouldn’t want to be us
Everyone wants you when you make a gold record
And at the concert, they all want to sing along
But where are they when I bleed from my pores?
But where are they? ’Cause I always feel alone, man
Ah, ah
’Cause I always feel alone, man
Ah, ah
’Cause I always feel alone, man
(’Cause I always feel alone, man)
(Ah)
(’Cause I always feel alone, man)
(Ah)