Dope fiends die with antennas in they mouth (after E-40)

Sometimes these rhymes cut like scissors, Across paper and wrists, cold blooded like lizards, And hex like a curse, Foes think I'm a jerk, While they get screwed by management, Career disappears quickly like summer, they wonder where the money went, A mix of drugs, booze and private schools while they still paying rent, Crazy how history repeats, Old school Doo-wop crews left with nothing but the blues and receipts, Hugs and drugs came with fortune and fame, Now no longer hot, everyone forgot they talent and name, Like Eddie Kane, sometime they wish that rain, Drops would fall, Instead that narcotic made them beg, steal and crawl, Addicted to drugs, fortune, and fame, They died with antennas in mouths and dope in they veins.