Verse:
I’ve put in a lot of time and i haven't gotten my due, now I’m learning I have to stand on my own two/
I spent a lot of time investing myself in you, then i realized you were never really bout crew/
It was always lip service, you never spit with a purpose, cuz you haven't seen the bottom, you've only seen the surface/
And you never could fathom, the belly of my verses, cuz it comes from the gut of a very jaded person/
Created by a surgeon, in the womb of a virgin, and groomed to run on stage and pull down the curtains/
I know this for certain, ill struggle to the end, cuz my muzzle blasts trouble, that’s where the story begins/
Sit down my friends and watch the tower crumble, got a sour taste in my mouth, and I can't look into puddles/
I’m not even puzzled, I’ve analyses the process, I just lack the discipline to do anything to stop it
Chorus:
It doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme/
If you steal my ideas, it’s still makes me king/
I don’t do it for the money, I do it for the dream/
And im hungry enough to lick my plate clean/
Verse:
I’m stuck in the thickets but don’t get it twisted, I’ll still sell more tickets than the rest of you bitches/
I was birthed with virtue, while you were catching curfew, i taught you your world view, you lost the one you turn to/
When nobody heard of you, and cats used to murder you, i took you under my wing, and showed you how to work it through/
And i can say with certitude, without me there is no you, so don’t you bullshit me, the way i taught you how to do/
If you cross that line, I’m taking what’s mine, and bear in mind, I’m from a slime you don’t typically find/
So don’t spit to me like I’m some regular cat, I’m Mr. Macks your creator don’t you ever forget that/
Otherwise i may revert to an alternate approach, the one in real life, where i do cut out your throat/
Don’t take this as a joke, take it as fair warning, i double dare you, you won’t see tomorrow morning/
Steeped in cool-tone sounds that nod to ’90s greats Tribe, Gang Starr, and Souls of Mischief, this record channels the spirit of the Chicago everyman, propping up the notion that true power belongs to the people. Roberto Johnson
a blend of lyric majesty ontop of a cachophony of sounds that stir my soul's intent into question?im serious .love love love this melodic poet. cafriner