Joe Budden - Broken Wings video

Real Hip Hop. The voices ain't leave yet, they just gettin' they feet wet Eyes red, I'm up, ain't been to sleep yet Damn near two days, ain't even eat yet If you don't wanna bounce, 'least take a little recess And still I'm faced with the bullshit Feelin' like Willy D, Scarface and Bushwick Dog, just when I gather its dead I gotta knock on wood like Hank Gathers head When I make small steps toward making it global My tight knit circle turns into a oval Filled with motha fuckas just pretendin' they know you These snakes in the grass'll do whatever to coax you Since they wanna hem you quick I walk around like a Ginsu's tip And that's just to get a mental grip You don't feel what the pencil scripts Then eight times outta ten you ain't been through shit When you hear Joe you hear the conviction and diction That open emotion, devotion is different Real talk of when he ain't have a pot to piss in He ain't have a car not one rock to glisten I'm giving 'em non-fiction, conning his addictions Ya'll got the easy job, just listen I do it for my folk and those of another pigment A little food for thought, you feelin' malnutrition But you don't hear a peep outta me About the black face goin' on and the sheep leadin' sheep It's deep, so I try to stay grounded like dad Must be in City Island, I'm surrounded by crabs Was once tight, grew apart for dollars Was on the same panel, now he's Starring Barbara Two different views, two different lifestyles I think 'long the way one of us got confused Look, you a hustla, still attracted to the scene Still doin' shit I gave up at sixteen You won't get a job, believin' your own lies You rationalize by sayin' you pursing your dreams You damn near thirty nigga you ain't got cream Can't take care of you when you worried 'bout your team My dude, want a hand out, wait in line But the clock's still tickin' man you playin' with time, It's so sweet Thought I was fucked up with no shoes 'til I met me a nigga with no feet Tried to help niggas, some niggas I couldn't That's my mom in me, I love niggas I shouldn't Dudes wanna shoot 'em 'til he nailed Some wanna threaten me, ruin my health Let me teach you a little something 'bout depression Ain't shit you could do to me I ain't already thought about doing to myself I'm the voice for the youth that's living with no reason Fuck record sales, I give 'em something to believe in If your day starts in that broken home Though we never met, 'least they feel like they not alone Like I was back when I was tryna' find dip The tsunami came through my hood in nine six And tried to murder dog, I took a little dive Then I got on my surfin board and kept slidin' Feel like A-Rod, some say his time's up Boo a nigga at home, yup I'm in my prime But he by far the best player on the team And then turn around, drop 'em to the bottom of the lineup Should get traded, but he don't wanna move 'Cause this the only city he got somethin' to prove And that's why I'm seen with heaters 'Cause you can't be the man when you on the same team as Jeter Ya dig, it's like the game ain't gettin' suitable Makin' me so sick I need Chicken Noodle Soup Rappers flyin' high, then got suicidal Imitate Jim Jones, end up like Cory Lidle I married hip hop, ignored what some was tellin' me I started hearin' rumors of infidelity, I ain't divorce 'er All the other dudes is so wack that I even feel a little jealousy

Running time: 04:31

• Broken
• Budden
• Hip
• Hop
• Joe
• Wings