You Don't Get Another Chance, Life Is

And All Those Who Look Down On Me I'm Tearing Down Your Balcony.

I Always Wished For This, But It's Almost Turning Into More Of A Nightmare Than A Dream.

I've Got To Formulate A Plot Or End Up In Jail Or Shot, Success Is My Only Option, Failure's Not.

His Palms Are Sweaty, Knees Weak, Arms Are Heavy There's Vomit On His Sweater Already, Mom's Spaghetti He's Nervous, But On The Surface He Looks Calm And Ready To Drop Bombs, But He Keeps On Forgettin' What He Wrote Down, The Whole Crowd Goes So Loud He Opens His Mouth, But The Words Won't Come Out He's Chokin', How, Everybody's Jokin' Now The Clocks Run Out, Times Up, Over, Blaow!

Never Was A Gangsta, Till I Graduated To One.