[Intro]
Where's my snare?
Yo, shout out Kells, seen him doin' the freestyles, got me inspired
Yeah, okay

[Verse]
Paranoid, gotta keep a pistol on the black dresser
Went twice as far as most of the rappers where I come from 'cause they some half-steppers
Ironic that mama ain't wanna hear me playin' no rap records
I turned into a professor
Unless you droppin' that weak shit, I'm a oppressor
These pills I got, homie, they not prescription
Posted up on Church Street, gettin' money but it's not religion
Mom, she was so saint-like, who I gotta thank for these thug habits?
Dad stopped playin' baseball with the kid, went to be a drug addict
Meditatin' at the crib, tryna clear this conscience
Two devils on my shoulder, talkin' in my ear, homie, and it's constant
Took so many L's, feel like I never come after W's
Like when you write an address and abbreviate Wisconsin
So many fake ballers in the game, feel like I'll always be deranged
If I buy some chains off ShopGold, then we all could be the same
Y'all took "fake it 'til you make it" to an all-time high, I can't relate
I'd rather be honest 'bout where I'm at and whip up mo' butter, make the cake
Y'all scrapin' up change and you on the street, lookin' like low-riders
Yelawolf Blacksheep set the whole wave, now a bunch of white rappers some flow biters
Fuck it, I got mo' drive than a transmission and fo' tires
If you never paid homage, clutch the Louis bag when you roll by us
In an industry full of ghostwriters, no tellin' who could rap
Havin' someone else tell your whole story, how the fuck you cool with that?
Got six mugshots on the internet, homie, and you could Google that
And I went Melly when the police came, I got nothin' to do with that
I grew up 'round biker gangs, never say a damn word then get the RICO dropped
Y'all favorite rapper tellin' on they homeboys, went and got they people got
Shit I can't respect, police come, I can't recollect
She gave me head inside of that sprinter, her and my dick are neck and neck
Black Sheep Records on the chain, from Johnny Dang, it's on the way
I made a lotto off of the raps, y'all pockets thick as Coi Leray
Thought I'm producin' albums for Drake the way that I make this 40 play
Have forty motherfuckers outside your house, it won't cost me 40K
I'm that same kid signed to Birdman back when I was the herb man
American History X, shave the head, have you bitin' the curb, man
They'll get a hand-out then double-cross you, I've seen that shit firsthand
Homie said he don't know if he could be a star, had to tell him, "You sure can"
Godfather, y'all kiss the ring when the king come
Thumbin' through a motherfuckin' check, bet none of y'all ever seen ones
Reason why they give mean mugs, y'all tryna give the kid smoke but I got clean lungs
Type of shit make me wanna go and grab machine guns
Speakin' of which, the first rapper that I ever linked with was Kells
Back when he was tourin' down South Florida and I was workin' scales
Passin' CDs outside of shows for free, wasn't even makin' sales
Then he linked, gave me a feature, said, "You a real one and we could tell"
Then I got signed, that two hunnid grand was like money in the mail
But then them drugs took me into deep waters, got hard for me to sail
Lost my deal, went broke for a lil while, had my ego frail
Upset that I never did what he did, had to watch as he prevailed
But I never hated on him, prayed for him and cheered from the side
Knowin' another man's success really got nothin' to do with mine
That shit was motivation to stop complainin' and get back on the grind
Go make that music that resonate with you, let God deal with the time
Think about how Van Gogh never sold a lot of paintings while he was alive
Remind yourself that yo' accolades aren't how you are defined
Think about pop's face hearin' that you rap, first time before he died
Think about that kid who said if it wasn't for you, then he wouldn't have survived
[Outro]
Real shit
Cadillac Music on the way
I wanna say thank you to the fans, man
Black Sheep forever