| I heard their chitter chatter like «Soul be acting foul»
|
| All holier than thou while they hold the golden cow
|
| No minerals or vitamins, that ain’t gonna feed ya
|
| We live in an environment where Rap is anesthesia
|
| So don’t be afraid of what I’m offering you
|
| I just got a couple questions like I’m audio two
|
| Like what’s it gonna take for me to be the top billa?
|
| But what’s the fucking point if I can never work with Dilla?
|
| We went from true schooling it to just YouTubing it
|
| Fuck your website and the assholes that Googled it
|
| I want to make music and them panties drop
|
| But leave the braindead chickens at the candyshop
|
| You see I ain’t the kind of dude that they sweat so hard
|
| I push a 2009 yellow Metrocard
|
| And if I’m talking 'bout you, then bless your stars
|
| Cause if you don’t face the truth then you get no scars
|
| From cuts to bruises, my flesh is a road map
|
| Between then and now and I wish I could go back
|
| To the little kid that always had the biggest mouth
|
| And say, «I know it’s hard, but you really gotta stick it out»
|
| One, two, three, Mississippi
|
| Four, five, come on, get with me
|
| Six, seven, heaven won’t lift me
|
| Eight, nine lives for the shifty
|
| Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten, ten, ten, ten
|
| It’s like ten times a day, I pray for something more than a bitter end (repeats)
|
| It’s like ten times a day I play the janitor
|
| Sweeping up the stairway to heaven clutching the banister
|
| And each step’s a mile high
|
| So I ascend with deep breaths and wild eyes and never lose my stamina
|
| Whether God exists or is just a fraud or myth
|
| He better tell me what to build before the fucking water shifts
|
| I was named for my grandmother’s very young brother
|
| Who was shot and buried with others in various clusters
|
| He was slain at sixteen, so while you play with sixteens
|
| I’mma always hold it down for the weight of his dreams
|
| Painting lush hopes with brush strokes as thick as curvaceous hips
|
| And praying when it dries, it’s as lovely as their nakedness
|
| I ain’t ever made a switch like autotune abusers
|
| This is 1995 colliding with the future
|
| Maybe I ain’t got the kind of style that you’re used to
|
| Fuck it, I’ve been writing since the crying of the rooster
|
| Wake the fuck up |