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hyperaptive - waste man كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1]
when i was young people’d look at me as a waste man
i was hungry and too busy making waste plans
building labels so i could one day make grands
too busy to be joining in on estate gangs
like every other ute scared ever to make stands
now with nothing to fill his day but to rate brands
of beer he drinks after he’s emptied eight cans
just hanging around wherever his mate hangs
out on ends robbing boys to prove he ain’t prang
forget a line of c0ke, now that boy takes grams
roaming the streets until his court case lands
but i can’t knock his p’s, he makes cans
in a factory, practically
had his whole life flushed down the tap with ease
but a waste man’s what he had to be
need a word of advice? then practice these

[hook]
he’s that boy who never makes plans
can’t see life past his estate lands
once sniffed lines now he takes grams
that’s what i call a waste man
had potential to make grands
now he’s running the streets with little bate gangs
locked behind bars with his fate slammed
that’s what i call a waste man

[verse 2]
he’s a waste man, a brush man
the type of guy who’s on the ends saying trust fam
i’m making movies, man like me’s got enough plans
i know the man that can get me the buff grams
but to him a waste man is that boy jotting
studying hard, while he’s on the road side shotting
thinking he’s top ‘cos he rolls with a couple rotten
sc-mmy brehs on the block, who’ve long since forgotten
what it means, to ever think or ever have a dream
minds controlled by what they see in tv magazines
now all he thinks of is the next bag of green
and his baggy jeans, there’s no more sadder scene
than to see, yet another lost teen missing
out on his life, so far gone that if in
a years time he hasn’t changed, he’ll be truely slipping
could’ve practice his talents but wasted his time sniffing
now he’ll never blow, like a kite in a box
should’ve been making moves but he’s lighting up rocks
fighting in blocks, robbing and taking flight from the cops
already at too high a height when it stops
once was the guy who never slips on his grammer
had dreams of living in the glits and the glamour
now he thinks of home as he sits in the slammer
had his freedom taken by two hits from a hammer

[verse 3]
skip forward two years, and he’s out of prison
twenty one years old and fully doubts his vision
of achieving anything with or without precision
or determination’ll work and wishes now he’d listened
‘cos what he sees is he was a don back in secondary
but all that respect he gained was gone the second he
was kicked out, now he’s on his ones and secondly
ain’t even got enough for a bus fare to peckham seeing
them same neeks, moving with ladies
driving past him laughing as they cruise in mercedes
while he’s left to bop on his two’s going crazy
‘cos every job he’s tried for gave refuses or maybes
and he knows, he’s only gonna make cr-ppy p’s
his only choice is to lie between jobs in maccy d’s
or back on the block, with a rake scr-pping leaves
while he see’s, at the same time shotters stacking g’s
now he’s back on the ends in the hoods habitat
stress is constant and his drug habbit’s back
seeing as he’s surrounded by weed and avid crack
dealers around the clock, it’s like the ends have him trapped
and he’s moving as always, back with his friends
sniffing lines of c0ke and back with a tens
of skunk in his boxers shotting back in the trend
’til he’s caught with a bag of e and it’s back to the pen

- hyperaptive

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