Chef Mal - Reflections Lyrics

Reflections of a shattered past
I realize there's no going back
Running on this treadmill
Tryna hold my demons back
Jesus man the winters cold
Get this boy a jack and coke
Running forward through the smoke
I'm tired of these same ole jokes
Now I pull my heart out
Put my heart up on a plate
Put the words up on the page
Go through motions day by day
Expect me to never be paid
I'm tired now I rest my case
Close the book, burn the page
Let the ashes float away
I wrote this song for better days
Showed up man I set the pace
Brand new nikes shoes are laced
I'm ready now to stack my plate

I'm zoning to music, I'm blocking out hate
I remember us happy way back in oh eight
Sitting here now only hope that you great
Hope when I'm famous you come to the gate

Other than that I'm just clearing the slate
I'm getting too old to carry this weight
I wish you the best is the worst of my traits
But I'm being for real, let's end the crusade

It's getting too cold, living in Maine
The River is frozen, I'm bringing a wave
Break it all up, I force it to drain
I cut off my foot to just free from the chains

I'm stacking my pennies, I'm keeping my wits
Doesn't make any sense, so I'm breaking it in
I'm fresh out my whip, while I'm holding my dick
With the joint I just rolled that is stuck to my lips

F*ck with the best then you know it's the chef
My bow is pulled back my arrow is fletched
I'll keep writing verses just promise this
You keep it one hundred and give me no less

I be running on the treadmill a lot lately
I'm tryna save my health I stopped vaping
Yo but i keep on a smoking that weed
My vices stack up I'm hooked on caffeine
Im going on these trips I'm alone in my mental
An when I say that I mean I zone with a pencil
Eighteen months and sixty songs
I'm happy as ever still hitting this bong

Man im a high road, I wonder where to roam
Slipping to the low road, somewhere near home
I think I'm up to Batman, imma go Sammy Sosa
You can play Bruce Wayne, Imma play f*ckin joker

You're prepared for this man, you've been doing it right
You're not ready for death, but you ready to write
So I keep spittin bars, they hold back his scythe
Then I remembered these ones that might be saving my life

Chef got a ray gun, that shooting out Cajun
That mean I got hot bars, spicy with hot sauce
You can't throw a hook let alone a punch line
Im eating yall up like mother f*ckin munchtime