Painkillers

(Flight attendant, filtered: On behalf of Pan Am Airlines [sounds of toking], we'd like to be the first to welcome you to New York City. We'd like to thank you for flying Pan Am [cough]. The local time is 6:45 AM, and the temperature is 89 degrees.)

I've been up all night on the red-eye flight

The dawn's early light got the skyline bright

I'm in the back of a car of service. The driver's kinda nervous

cause I'm tokin' on a blunt that's phat

He say "You know where you at?"

I say "I know where I am, and if you really want a tip then Mister, don't get flam!

I ain't tryin' to be rude, and I ain't stressin' you, Gramps,

But this shit right here, it be the breakfast of champs.

I been tokin' on this since thirteen years old

And when I look up at my wall I see platinum and gold

And ain't nobody sneezin' at the money I fold

And I ain't here for your pleasin' so put that shit on hold

Just keep your mouth shut and get me to the hotel

and turn the radio up while I finish this El."

(Bell boy: Welcome to the Five Seasons, Mr. Ford. Your usual room is ready and waiting. Let me take your luggage. If you need anything while you're staying, just let me know!

Everlast: You're good lookin' out...That's for you.)

I hop out my car, step into the lobby

Everybody's on the floor. It's a mother fuckin' robbery!

The shit's in progress. I can feel the stress

I wonder silently to God, "How'd I get in this mess?"

They tell me to freeze and get down on my knees

Between my jewels and my cash I'm holding 35 Gs.

They told me to run it, so I got bold and I fronted

And like Slick Rick said, I know I shouldn'ta done it

'Cause now they're standing over me, watching me bleed

Damn! I got to quit smokin' all this weed

There's a pain in my chest, but yo, I must be blessed

Because before I faded out I saw the EMS

And the paramedics, they greet me with some anesthetics

They killin' my pain, they screamin' my name

Tryin' to keep me in the conscious world

I'm thinkin' bout my mom, my sister and my girl

I'm prayin' to God, don't let this go too far

As they rush me into the Saint Luke's O.R.

They pull the bullets out my chest and give 'em back in a jar

Now I'm wearin' this scar 'cause I tried to play hard

(Doctor: "Mr. Ford, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

Everlast: "What are you talkin' about?"

Doctor: "It would appear that one of the bullets grazed your spine, and damaged the cord."

Everlast: "So what are you tryin' to tell me?"

Doctor: "Well, suffice I have to say to say I don't think you'll be jumpin' around any more.")

Yo! This can't happen to me! I just can't believe it!

Trapped in a wheelchair! A paraplegic!

There ain't no rehab, there ain't no therapy.

For the rest of my life, someone's gotta take care of me!

And people stare at me with pity in they eyes

And every morning I rise to a life I despise

And every night I think I might never rock the mic again

'Cause my brain's fucked up on Percocet and Vicodin

Might as well be heroin pulsin' through my veins

Gotta kill these pains or blow out my brains

To free me from these chains.

I'm trapped in this physical hell.

To walk again I might just sell my soul

And I'm only twenty-somethin' years old.