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| - Fort Minor, MinorFort Minor, Minor, Minor... Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I... Yes, ladies and gentlemenWe have a special guest for you this eveningGhost, you ready? Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I... Fiasco! Yeah, ladies and gentlemenThis has been a Fort Minor productionGhostface! Fiasco! Uh, spraypaint and ink pens
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| - Fort Minor, MinorFort Minor, Minor, Minor... Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I... Yes, ladies and gentlemenWe have a special guest for you this eveningGhost, you ready? Yo, I verbally paint pictures, I'm the hood's best storytellerThis about a young boy dealing with the older fellasPromised him the lives you see on TVHe ran packs across town like rhyme CD'sAnd big chains, new clothes, Nikes and ReeboksStacking too much loot to squeeze in a shoe boxSaving, he promised his mom a crib in AtlantaAnd his pops got killed through debt, he was a dealerSo he staged jazz, fox jump off the suit casesNo more cross-town, now he's crossing them states andSeeing new faces, not knowing who to trustSo when the door kicked open they scream "This is a bust""Is it a set up?", it seems funny, a scuffle broke outHe got hit, dropped the cases spitting blood out of his mouthHe walked four blocks to die trying to surviveAnd now all that's left is his mom screaming "God Why?" Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I... Yeah, yeah, let me begin by saying "Shut the fuck up!"Let me begin by saying I don't think this man knew what he had in storeHe opened the door and found the bag under the floorNot a peep, always working a lot, get the flame, aim, popOpen the box and take off out the back of the pawn shopScoping the lot, hoping the cops hadn't seen the plates on his carHe felt like he been hustling so hard like a demon he pumped a cold heartPlay it cool like Humphrey Bogart, put the rings on his chain attached by both partsHe did the drop, one ring in a bag, envelope, all the money he hadLeft the money and the ring in a slow exhaleTwo weeks went by, got a box in the mailIn the box was a bullet made of goldMelted down from the ring, recast with two rings and a bandAnd he stared at it sitting in the palm of his handAnd sat down next to a picture that sat on the nightstandIt was his wife in the picture on his sideWith the ring on the finger on the week that she diedAs he looked in the reflection, at those eyes so redHe put the bullet in a gun and put it right in his head like that Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I...Uh, yeah, uh Fiasco! You know he didn't have enough power in his thrusters to muster Warp 5Plus if he pushed it, the fuel cells could rupture then they would dieThen the galaxy would suffer but he knew he had to tryBut he couldn't risk it, put the cure in the escape pod and kissed itAnd told her goodbye, she started to cry, but he knew if he could distract 'emHe could buy her some time and she could make it out aliveTurn the suit around and got prepared for the stand offSpace mind had blew one of the hands offDamaged laser cannons and he got the system jammedAnd he faced the whole fleet, blood seeping through his teethThe final saga in the seven planet warsUnsheathed the sword and then he charged forwardHis eyes flashed behind the cracked cockpit glassHe let out a laugh and then all she heard was a blast like Uh, spraypaint and ink pensI use to write in every color I think inTo paint a picture with every rhyme that I speak inYeah, the gallery is the beat then I... I... I... I... Yeah, ladies and gentlemenThis has been a Fort Minor productionGhostface! Fiasco! Uh, spraypaint and ink pens It's an expression coming out of a simple can of paintLook, it's the easiest way for the average kid to paint things using himself as the meaning of itYou gonna get into that gallery real soon, man.Why? I'm not gonna be famous one dayWhy do you always say that?'cause it's true
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