Webby's Lab 2 (Intro) - Chris Webby

Yeah…

I was, stuck inside my fuckin' studio pacing

Stressin' and second guessin' with all the music I’m makin'

Re assessin' who I choose to put faith in

And re examinin' who really has a say in all these moves that I’m makin'

Stepped away for a minute, made a new situation

And now it’s back to the basics, I know you have been waitin'

Cause see it ain’t about the numbers or the views or rotations

I’m hungry, those in my way should get to funeral arrangin'

I’ll bruise em, I’ll scrape em, I’ll chew em, I’ll break em

And Get a skewer filet em, like food on my plate and throw what’s left in the

stew I was makin'

I’m patient I’m calm and I’m cool I’m just sayin'

The person that you see when you google my name, with those stupid photo shoots

from like 2008 with the early interviews of me sayin' some super outdated

chemically fueled ludicrous statements

Was just a kid who lacked guidance, up in the public eye

But I’m all grown up now, so fuck it right

Let’s get back to raisin' hell up again

And talkin' shit about these rappers cause I’m better than them

Time to give em all a show so go assemble your friends

We in the lab, like its 2011 again

The hands on the clocks jumpin', but dammit I’m not bluffin'

It’s time to make shit get outta hand like I dropped somethin'

Won’t stop nothing I’m back bitch, the bandicoot of Datpiff

With my lab kit, and bottle ready to crash shit

Oh you think that’s it?

Not even close mother fucker.

Check check…

Rockin' crowds is what I love to do

Adrenaline is pumpin' through

My body, sending dopamine levels right through the fuckin' roof

Serotonin rushin' too, more than any drug could do

Music’s like my anti depressant, this shit ain’t nothing new

Without it I’d be caught up in stress, an alcoholic, a mess

I don’t just do this cause it offers a check

Cause I don’t need a label office, a jet, or a crib in the hills or a

lamborghini and jewelry all on my neck

But I’m sick of fallin' in debt with this Indian guy from American Express

puttin' in this call to collect

But I see being pushed to the brink as a test

And honestly, bein' broke really seems to bring out my best

I feel like, I’m locked inside a fuckin cage with a pen

Bein' pushed to the point that I hate this game that I’m in

Surrounded by these people who just like to fake and pretend

So they ask, «if that’s the case why you ain’t famous as them?»

I dunno, but just lemme give my midnight toast

Hip hops dead like nas said and it’s this I «e

I’m feelin' like I’m out the loop and it’s an inside joke

«Wait wait, your actually serious?

You think this guys dope?»

So I’ll keep givin' my lectures, professor Webster is back in my mask jacket

and gloves cookin' tracks in the desert

I’m back and I’m better, actin' erratic dramatic and clever

Cause I’m, still up in the fuckin' lab like Dexter

Five years later, we back up in the laboratory mother fucker.

Welcome to the

mixtape.

Yea!