Paroles Webby's lab 2 (intro) Chris Webby

Webby's lab 2 (intro)

Yeah...
I was, stuck inside my fuckin' studio pacing
Stressin' and second guessin' with all the music I'm makin'
Re assessin' who I choose to put faith in
And re-examinin' who really has a say in all these moves that I'm makin'
Stepped away for a minute, made a new situation
And now it's back to the basics, I know you have been waitin'
Cause see it ain't about the numbers or the views or rotations
I'm hungry, those in my way should get to funeral arrangin'
I'll bruise em, I'll scrape em, I'll chew em, I'll break em
And get a skewer, filet em, like food on my plate
And throw what's left in the stew I was makin'
I'm patient, I'm calm, and I'm cool, I'm just sayin'
The person that you see when you Google my name
With those stupid photo shoots from like 2008
With the early interviews of me sayin'
Some super outdated chemically fueled ludicrous statements
Was just a kid who lacked guidance, up in the public eye
But I'm all grown up now, so fuck it right?
Let's get back to raisin' hell up again
And talkin' shit about these rappers cause I'm better than them
Time to give 'em all a show, so go assemble your friends
We in the lab like it's 2011 again
The hands on the clocks jumpin', but dammit I'm not bluffin'
It's time to make shit get outta hand like I dropped somethin'
Won't stop nothing I'm back bitch, the bandicoot of DatPiff
With my lab kit, and bottle ready to crash shit

Oh you think that's it?
Not even close motherfucker
Check

Rockin' crowds is what I love to do
Adrenaline is pumpin' through
My body, sending dopamine levels right through the fuckin' roof
Serotonin rushin' too, more than any drug could do
Music's like my antidepressant, this shit ain't nothing new
Without it I'd be caught up in stress, an alcoholic, a mess
I don't just do this cause it offers a check
Cause I don't need a label office, a jet, or a crib in the hills
Or a Lamborghini and jewelry all on my neck
But I'm sick of fallin' in debt with this Indian guy from American Express puttin' in this call to collect
But I see being pushed to the brink as a test
And honestly, bein' broke really seems to bring out my best
I feel like, I'm locked inside a fuckin' cage with a pen
Bein' pushed to the point that I hate this game that I'm in
Surrounded by these people who just like to fake and pretend
So they ask, "if that's the case why you ain't famous as them?"
I dunno, but just lemme give my midnight toast
Hip-hop's dead like Nas said and it's this I quote
I'm feelin' like I'm out the loop and it's an inside joke
"Wait wait, you're actually serious? You think this guy's dope?"
So I'll keep givin' my lectures, professor Webster is back
In my mask, jacket, and gloves, cookin' tracks in the desert
I'm back and I'm better, actin' erratic, dramatic, and clever
Cause I'm, still up in the fuckin' lab like Dexter

Five years later, we back up in the laboratory motherfucker!
Welcome to the mixtape
Ya!