[Verse 1: QuESt]
I'm grinding like my life is on the line
And all my family, friends and homies count on me to take my shine
So I can't fuck with non believers don't even waste my time
All my minutes, seconds, hours go to the art that I design
So much trouble on my mind, money ain't here, not one dime
Cash that cheque, fuck that way, everything gone, fuck I spent
Can't remember, can't remember, I swear I can't remember
Tell me how can summer August feel like NY in December
Prayer's feeling like a fucking mission
My homie told me 'you don't ever stop to fucking listen'
Maybe cause lately I don't feel like I've been fucking winning
Plus you can never understand just how I'm fucking living
Nobody sees it, thus they hardly believe it
Till it's bottles after bottles and models begging for semen
Get it homie, I get it, nothing I wanna deal with
I just pick up where I left, like I be back before you feel it, n***a uh

[Hook: QuESt]
And I'm just riding 'round the city
And I'm just riding 'round the city
Like there's nowhere to go, to go, to go
(And I'm just riding around the city)
Like there's nowhere to go, to go, to go
(Catch me rolling, me rolling, me rolling)
[Verse 2: QuESt]
And I got my girl texting, my momma calling
Poppa talking, too close to falling
Job stalling, not close to falling
But I swear that none of this is appalling
Bills piling, n***a's smiling all in my face
But these snakes invalid, stay silent
No wilin', but I'm close to filing my claim to malice
Fuck rappers, fuck 'em all, bullshit and those trapper songs
Snapbacks and your tight pants and your fake Jordans - who gassed you all
And told you to dress like it's '85, and do the same song like 85
Times around like you made of lies, fuck is wrong with you lady-guys
No disrespect, that just the way I'm feeling
Don't mean I'm dissing Big Sean, I make a decent living
Just when you see these imitators get so much attention
It kinda makes you feel like real is close to it's extinction
Say I'm hating? Who doesn't nowadays?
Opinions do not exist like Jews and Jesus holidays
Too much shit up on my dome, don't even wanna deal with
I just pick up where I left, like I be back before you feel it, n***a

[Hook x2]

[Verse 3: Logic]
Sitting back, and I'm getting it
Hand me the mic, and you know I be ripping it
Came out the blue, you would think I was cripping it
Champagne, we sipping it, living that life
Rattpack
That's what we on, haters be talking that shit, but we gone
Young Sinatra is a don, heading to the top
Always keep it real, never flop, no we never stop
Never selling out, we in this for the music not the guap
But I got that old-school and that mainstream
Versatile's my main theme, we re-invent but they same scheme
Talking shit on the same team, sold out I never did it
That fake shit, I'll never get it, I'm flowing acidic
And getting the credit, but you motherfuckers is debit with it
Over their head like satellite, so check again cause my data right
I remember when I wished I had a mic, but now I record it the second I write
I'm in the game and I've been the same, I do it all but y'all ain't a thing
8 years I've felt pain, patiently waiting till y'all knew the name
It felt like forever since I was a stain, I once was a boy but I'm finally a mane
And the bank account is still only thing that's fucking changed
Visionary
[Hook x2]