Technology got us livin’ in vexed disguise
Soon kids gon’ think emotion virtual exercise
They like, “Craft, don’t be such a depressing guy, give it a rest my guy, it gets easier the less you try”
But I keep it so funky, I honestly be impressed with lies like “I don’t have to do that?”
So weirdly I respect it like check it
Every day you get dressed with two outfits; the one you wearin’ and the one you maskin’ all your doubt with
You ever think about shit like think about what clout is?
Like “what is it?”
It’s nothin’, it’s fickle as your mouth is
My words hold weight, them shit’s muscular as fuck
So when people listen they got the strength to lift ‘em up
Listen up, you know how many rappers livin’ in my trunk?
Feed ‘em twice a day, I don’t believe in takin’ life away
But like the White Sox Triple A I had to take that mic away
Homie this shit saved my life, you don’t got a right to play with it
Shit, they keep singin’ the same old swan song
I’m spittin’ like I took the drugs Nike got Lebron on
Pardon my French but kiss my motherfuckin’ ass
Westbrook in the 4th man, no one gets a pass this year
I’m in galactic gear headed for stardom
From the LES to Harlem they be like “that boy a problem”
Get me my roses while I can smell ‘em
Shit, got the whole New York smellin’ like a garden, especially how I be ballin’, word
A couple legends already respect me
A couple waitin’ for it to be cool to accept me
Some people waitin’ on all the checks til’ they come and check me
When I started gettin’ press, I knew who gon’ compress me, yeah
It’s Craft, the one that nobody knew ‘bout
Now my DMs lookin’ like second base with two outs
I know who I am muhfucka, what are you ‘bout?
I give ‘em that “fuck, I ain’t the realest in the room” doubt
These rappers my sons and they all actin’ so lately been upset with my seeds like it’s March Madness
I lap all you dudes in a race where I start backwards
Just stick to your flow man, that’s how you got traction
Built a team of Warriors like I’m fuckin’ Mark Jackson
Less talk, more action, less cars, more rappin’
Less flauntin’, more passion
You gon’ need more backs, been tryin’ take shots at the dream
I’m blockin’ you like a king
They claim they don’t fear death but they got no will
They avoid the real so hard I be like “hold still”
Decade of silence for all the rappers the flow killed
They sayin’ “white boy got the sauce,” call it goat milk
Look, I don’t know who the king of this town
Me, myself, I ain't concerned with a figurative crown
But all I know is on this mic dog, I’m the illest around
So if we talkin’ MCin you gotta put MC in the lead
And that’s without any “ands,” “if,” “buts,” or “I suppose”s
Peep how wise the prose is
I can smell a hater from around the block homie, peep how fuckin’ wide my nose is
Every time she see, she open up like I’m some kind of Moses
This one’s for Hell’s Kitchen, the culture didn’t die
This one’s for my family, they kept the kid alive
This one’s for those who can’t stand me, just know you live a lie
We all live to die, at least the life I live is mine