[Hook]
What you don’t know is we are, more than the city
We’ve been so close yet so far

[Verse 1]
It don’t seem real that I’ve been away for ten years
This scene still familiar from Benning road to Ben Hill
Landscape full of crabs, snakes in the grass, you don’t watch em, they might off you with a blade from the killing fields
Homie, I’m a sharecroppers daughter and I still owe
N***as here was worth their weight in gold, Patna-Steel Pulse
Now we on the sidelines tryna to find an ally and an affinity for Allah will turn you into a scarecrow
And every since Jansports and Sambas I been on the run
Place got me sleep with one eye open wide, insomnia
Thought I paid my dues watching my muses burning rocks, but obviously I am still mired to a debt that I can’t wander from
That’s Choc city
Buck fifty for the Glocks, any stock
Where hustlers sell Dasani to Atlantic Ocean penny stock
Luster starts to fade when the fresh coats every winter stop
I learned all that I needed 'tween these educated city blocks

[Hook]
What you don’t know is we are, more than the city
We’ve been so close yet so far, ain’t that a pity
Trading freedom for just enough, land of the plenty
No one’s gon' change it but us
[Verse: 2]
Bars like vocal analyses, probing deep in your maladies
How the freak can you challenge me
I’m the people’s champ, Ali
See this is liquid I’m leaking into your psyche enticing those seeds to flowers, by sonnet peep the analogy
Maybe it was providence polishing this crystal from gravel
Cuz high society shun you after existence in Babel
No one seems to understand us, words are too twisted in fragments
Crumbling and decomposing on the lips of the tragic
Despite it all the writers with a voice one dimensional
Their one liners fraught with cliches, non-original
Imma slice and spiralize these charades, son-elliptical
Naked truth in the midst of masquerades is so critical
Daddy’s in the bottom of the bottle cuz he think I’m lost
Keep verses bright with modicums of shade to get my point across
This is just but one of many pages in the catacombs
The makings of a Pharaoh from Favelas that’s ironic, huh?

[Hook]
What you don’t know is we are, more than the city
We’ve been so close yet so far, ain’t that a pity
Trading freedom for just enough, land of the plenty
No one’s gon' change it but us