I live this life at a pace that anyone can go.
Know your place, and dedicate your role
…To the faith that you’ll die alone
I don’t get pat down, you know what’s on the waist,
I don’t mean Jazz when I say I “count base.”
Fly Louis sneakers, Purple Tape coming out the speakers,
Bumped into my high school teachers,
They said I wouldn’t be nothing, sitting on the bleachers.
Now I’m sitting in the Phantom, trynna figure out the features.
I’m a big fish now, I watch for the leeches.
Man gave us laws, and God gave us time,
It’s the art of storytelling and I’m only telling mine.
Niggas is too scared to hustle, but too cool to work,
So they walk around broke like a motherfuckin jerk.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
There’s a very big difference between what’s rap and what’s real,
When those worlds collide, that’s when rappers get killed.
Trappers, they go to jail, die without leaving a will,
There’s a very big difference between what’s rap and what’s real.
City lights shine bright on my complexion,
Self-reflection…red hairs flashing at the intersection.
Life is a green light, one star, no script,
Supporting actors…fresh peaches, no pit.
If you’re having world problems, I feel bad for you son,
I got 99 problems, but a Mitt ain’t one.
Yes I’m highly explosive, yes I’m something ferocious,
Niggas fuckin with my nerves like multiple sclerosis.
Look inside my soul and you can find gold and maybe get rich.
Look inside of your soul and you can find out it never exists…
Imagine Rock up in the projects where them niggas pick your pockets,
Santa Claus don’t miss them stockings, liquor spilling, pistols popping,
Baking soda Yola whipping, ain’t no turkey on Thanksgiving,
My homeboy just domed a nigga, I just hope the Lord forgive him.
Will I die slain like my King by a terrorist?
Will my woman be Coretta, take my name and cherish it?
Or will she Jackie O., drop the Kennedy, remarry it?
Love comes in every color, but the fact is…
I never needed 50 Shades of Grey,
Just turn the lights down low and give me every shade of blackness.
I ain’t never gave a fuck, I never did and never will.
Live my life on principle: keep it true, keep it real.
Better said, I keep it TRILL and no matter who don’t like it,
Homie, that just it how it is, naked truth
Like that stripper that’s in front of me,
And I keep a blunt, and a Bible, and a gun on me.
Fuck a stray bullet, I take aim when the gun draws,
For everlasting fame, I will maim those who change the gun laws.
Cause post-traumatic stress disorder, ask any vet I’ve worked with.
My purpose? Catching bodies like safety nets at the circus.
I bumped into Loon, he like ‘Well, As Salaam-Alaikum.’
You know I ain’t Muslim, my nigga, I’m about my bacon!
Catch a throatful from the fire vocal
Ashing and molten glass like Eyjafjallajökull.
Some seek fame cause they need validation,
Some say hating is confused admiration.
Once in awhile, I’mma cheat and get dome,
But best believe that I’mma always come home.
Shorty, I luv you.
Type to tote the glock and use gats…
You the type to vote Barack cause dude’s black.
Shoot eagles on the Jack Nicklaus course,
Porsche with the triple exhaust,
Seats soft like a midget’s cough…
I wonder, who do you believe in? I know it ain’t me,
I hope it ain’t a priest, or who you seen on TV.
I hope it ain’t your poppa, potna, he only raised you.
And I know it ain’t your mom, even though that’s who you came through…
I got a ill gift, I’m real swift
They be like, ‘Damn, he’s still rich.’
When I send my Men in Black,
Listen, none of them niggas named Will Smith.
Hood forever, I just act like I’m civilized.
Really what’s in my mind is organizing a billion Black motherfuckers
To take over JP Morgan, Goldman and Sachs
And teach the world facts and give Saudi they oil back.
Ronald Reagan was an actor. Not at all a factor,
Just an employee of the country’s real masters.
Just like the Bushes, Clinton and Obama,
Just another talkin’ head tellin’ lies on teleprompters.
If you don’t believe the theory, then argue with this logic:
Why did Reagan and Obama both go after Gaddafi?
We invaded sovereign soil, goin’ after oil
Takin’ countries as a hobby paid for by the oil lobby,
Same as Iraq and Afghanistan.
And Ahmadinejad sayin’ they comin’ for Iran…
If rhyme is a crime, my mic is my co-defendant.
Went from most hated to the Champion God Flow,
I guess that’s a feelin’ only me and LeBron know.
This generation lacks true knowledge of how the past has trapped you with psychological lassos over Adam’s apples.
A simple right or left can mean life or death,
Epic fail or nice success,
Days of pleasure or nights of stress.
I remember when I fell from my first bike:
There were no ‘Are you okays?’ and rarely ‘Are you alrights?’
Just dirt in my pockets, handful of gravel…
That’s when I realized that getting up is only half the battle.
This is jazz, this is funk, this is soul, this is gospel
This is sanctified sick, this is player Pentecostal.
This is church front pew, Amen, pulpit,
What my people need and the opposite of bullshit.
We brag on havin’ bread, but none of us are bakers.
We all talk havin’ greens, but none of us on acres.
If none of us on acres, and none of us grow wheat,
Then who will feed our people when our people need to eat?
So it seems our people starve from lack of understandin’
Cause all we seem to give them is some ballin’ and some dancin’,
And some talkin’ about our car and imaginary mansions.
We should be indicted for bullshit we inciting,
Havin’ children deaf and pretendin’ it’s exciting.
We are advertisements for agony and pain.
We exploit the youth. We tell them to join a gang.
We tell them dope stories, introduced them to the game.
I own the night…the heat’s my receipt.
Friends: how many have ‘em?
How long before they split like atoms?
Don’t ask me, but what I do stand behind
Is someone havin’ your back seems hard to find.
We can’t complain for this borrowed time;
So don’t misuse yours, cause you can’t borrow mine.
We live in an era where it ain’t about dope rhymes.
When beef is online, and how big is your co-sign…
Tell ya mama to stop flirtin’ boy, I’m not a good step-pop.
I interrupt your little session…and wreck shop.
There ain’t no time to be wasted, the world is going under…
Nowadays, can’t tell Fall from Spring, and Winter from Summer.
…Not to mention, I take authority horribly.
Fuck a job, nigga, that conversation just bores me.
Fuck a moment of silence…I need a moment of violence.
Layin niggas so flat, homies think you plankin’,
Only realize you dead when the corpse start stankin’.
Was crazy poor, now I’m tryna get mad rich;
With a good girl…you couldn’t tell, cause she’s a bad bitch.
Ka, “Chamber,” Grief Pedigree, 2012
Thanks to Reaganomics, prisons turned to profits,
Cause free labor is the cornerstone of US economics.
Slavery was abolished, unless you are in prison,
You think I am bullshitting? Then read the 13th Amendment.
Involuntary servitude and slavery it prohibits,
That’s why they giving drug offenders time in double digits.
Killer Mike, “Reagan,” R.A.P. Music, 2012
It’s deep-rooted, the music of being young and dumb,
It’s never muted, in fact, it’s much louder where I’m from.
Kendrick Lamar, “Sherane a.k.a. Master Splinter’s Daughter,” good kid, m.A.A.d city, 2012
Never was hot, never was Pop,
But I never, ever stopped that real Hip Hop.
Got no paparazzi, got no company that got me;
Walking alone in the ‘hood, so it’s easy to spot me.
Wake up: all of that ‘crack in the street’ talk?
It’s made up, like ‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’
The way mothers feel for they sons, how fathers feel for they daughters;
When he date, he straight, chip off his own papa.
When she date, we wait behind the door with the sawed off,
Cause we think no one is good enough for our daughters.
I was a dreamer, life was a gamble;
Born in a casino, but God never give burdens you can’t handle.
Music is my ammo…I’m ready for battle.
A simple right or left
Can mean life or death.
Epic fail, or nice success,
Days of pleasure…nights of stress.
We knew we’d be together, we didn’t know when,
But long distance love, never thought it would end.
The feelings never changed until the call came…
You were engaged, I was in pain.
It was such a shame: the timing, it just wasn’t right.
So I say, ‘Good luck,’ and then I say, ‘Good night.’
You don’t know about hell unless you walk through it;
Can’t recognize the devil’s face unless you talk to it.
And I’m not sure why I’m infatuated with death,
My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats…
Maybe cause I’m a dreamer, and sleep is the cousin of death,
Really stuck in the scheme of wondering when I’mma rest.
I’m living three dreams:
Biggie Smalls’, Dr. King, Rodney King’s.
Cause we can’t get along, no resolution?
‘Til we drown all these haters…
Rest in peace to Whitney Houston
Up against Goliath, to bring butter home.
I’m David on pavement, sling another stone.
I hate The Police so much I’d probably assassinate Sting,
My System of a Down Rages Against the Machine.
Tie you up in a Slipknot and hold Alice In Chains inside her dreams.
This game is lame, the music comes second
So you can save that stupidness for all them artists you checkin.
Popularity don’t last long, I’m in it for classics,
Cause the other side of the biz is fake and it’s plastic.
Every time I write these words they become a taboo,
Making sure my punctuation curve, every letter here’s true,
Living my life in the margin, and that metaphor was proof.
In time, you’ll see a thin line between friend and rival.
Between you and me: stupidity and men’s bravado.
I know you think my life is good ‘cause my diamond piece,
But my life been good since I started finding peace.