He rolled up, asked him what he was sippin' on. He said lean, You want to hit it, dawg? That's the same stuff Weezy's sippin' huh? And tons of other rappers that be spittin' hard. Yup he had five up on. When he passed him that styrofoam. The easter pink, heard it in a rhyme before. Finally got to see what all the hype was on. And then he took a sip, sittin' in the Lincoln. Thinkin' he was pimpin' as he listen to the system. Little did he know that it was just as addictive as base. Not the kind of hit from the kick drum. Hot box, let the bass bump. Take it to the face, gulp. Months later the use went up. Every blunt was accompanied by the pink stuff. But Godd.mn he loved that feelin'. Purple rain coated in the throat. Just so healin'. Medicine alleviate the sickness. Liquid to fix and it comes with a cost. Wake up, cold sweat, scratchin', itchin'. Trying to escape the skin that barely fit him. Gone, get another bottle just to get a couple swallows. Headed towards the bottom couldn't get off it. Didn't even think he had a problem. Though he couldn't sleep without gettin' nauseous. Room spinnin', thinkin' he might of sipped just a little bit too much of that cough syrup. His eyelids closed shut. Sat back in the chair clutchin' that cup. Girlfriend came and a couple hours later said his name shook him but he never got up.

He never got up, he never got up. We live on the cusp of death thinkin' that it won't be us. It won't be us, it won't be us, it won't be us. Nah, it won't be us.

Now he just wanted to act like them. He just wanted to rap like him. Us as rappers underestimate the power and the effects that we have on these kids. Blunt passed, ash in a tin, pack being pushed, harassed by the feds. The fact of it is most people that rap like this talkin' about some sh.t they haven't lived. Surprise, you know the drill. Trapped in a box to climb record sales. Follow the formula violence, drugs, and, s.x sells. So we try to sound like someone else. This is not Californication. There's no way to glorify this pavement. Syrup, percocet, and an eighth a day will leave you broke, depressed, and emotionally vacant. Despite how Lil Wayne lives. It's not conducive to being creative. And I know 'cause he's my favorite. And I know 'cause I was off that same mix. Rationalize the sh.t that I'd try after I listen to dedication. But he's an alien, I'd sip that sh.t, pass out or play Playstation. Months later I'm in the same place. No music made, feeling like a failure. And trust me it's not dope to be 25 and move back to your parent's basement. I've seen my people's dreams die. I've seen what they can be denied. And "weeds not a drug" - that's denial. Groundhog Day life repeat each time. I've seen oxycontin take three lives. I grew up with them, we used to cheef dimes. I've seen cocaine bring out the demons inside. Cheatin' and lyin'. Friendship cease, no peace in the mind. Stealin' and takin' anything to fix the pieces inside. Broken, hopeless, headed nowhere. Only motivation for what the dealer's supplying. That rush, that drug, that dope. Those pills, that crumb, that roach. Thinkin' I would never do that, not that drug. And growing up nobody ever does. Until your stuck, lookin' in the mirror like I can't believe what I've become. Swore I was goin' to be someone. And growing up everyone always does. We sell our dreams and our potential. To escape through that buzz. Just keep me up, keep me up. Hollywood here we come.


~Macklemore, Otherside