| Yeah, yeah
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| Uh yeah, yeah
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| Look
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| They wanna know my mic game, it’s '98, Game 6
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| Wealthy soul, they wanna know how I’m happy but ain’t rich
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| Tried to test me, lied as a youngin and I ain’t bitch
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| Realized this whole game an illusion, ain’t been the same since
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| Ain’t many enemies worse than impatience
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| Vain princes sit upon thrones made of vagueness
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| Me? |
| My effect directed a young Sway
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| My effect, director, a Scorse
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| They pose, oughta be themselves, yeah they Jorge
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| New York kid, they watch me from oy veys to
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| Cats get a little bit and just do what the coin say
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| I’m invested in myself, win or lose, that boy play
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| Try to be humble, I feel like an antithesis
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| Somethin' like a West Hollywood breast
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| I bottle the stress, then learn to let it pour on the page or on the stage
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| Never knew how important my stains
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| Probably have to sell a million records 'fore I’m embraced by the cool table
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| And by that time it be boring and fake
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| Do you know what it’s like to have morals these days?
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| It’s hard to believe in karma and rewards seem in vain
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| But I suppose the prose alone is in itself the destination
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| I am the excavation, the soul of a restless nation
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| Composed of every one of your woes and hesitations
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| Saw the script and I burned it, the smoke rose from the basement
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| So whatever my lineage or rank that they fit me in
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| Bury me a city kid, product of the shit we live
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| Try to try to live to give, think I might succeed it
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| Just don’t let the ones who’s hollow critique it, say I’m a genius
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| Call 'em on their bullshit in the spirit of Craft
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| Even wise men walk in circles when they clearing a path
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| And may those who felt the love outnumber vast those
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| Who had to get near to the wrath and steer clear of the trash
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| I almost lost faith
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| I swear I almost faith
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| But that’s what every bar face
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| Fuck your lil' bizarre takes
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| Homie, look at Marl pace
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| Even when I’m off-base
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| I ain’t runnin' yall race
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| No, no, no, no, no
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| Yeah |