I was raised up in New York where shame don’t get two thoughts
And soon or later gotta live the same shit that you talk
Well when you start to crack just like the pavements where you walk
You don’t be somethin’ you not
Don’t let em see you sweat dude cause if you get sentimental they send shots all at your mental like “Cryin tears ain't what men do”
Lil’ homie, I’m here to tell you that that’s bullshit
Trust, cause I done seen both sides
I seen nerds turn shit up, I done seen thugs cry
Don’t believe stereotypes
Fuck Bose, Sony or Panasonic
Rappers want a seat at the table but will they stand up on it?
I done got the game in my hands but I wouldn’t dare to palm it
Shit I’d be too scared to drop it, the effects could be atomic
This just ain’t for flex, not everyone can come up here
If only half them listen, still responsible for one ear
If one year’s my run, that’s one year my tongue sprung off the roof of my mouth to influence somebody’s son so I must give this truth cause ain't no single man inferior
Be you like a terrier barin’ this cross of authenticity in lands nefarious
It’s hard, cause anyone can cop some J’s it’s only you alone that’s wearin your scars
I done seen all the inequities, I know how it work
I had that same weed in my bookbag but I never got searched
I had that same rebellion wanderin church
Cause I got kicked out Sunday school like every week for all my devilish smirks
So I end up on the right track, some of it is white/black
Some of it is class strata, trauma where the strife’s at
They said that’s not how you gon live but I knew those kids
I swore that one day with the mic that I would go and fight back
Cause most people do the best they can
Most folks are just pedestrians, havin’ the voices of privilege
But all these blogs just be fall for the gimmicks, all for a couple clicks and subscriptions
That shit be makin me sickened
So fuck it you ain't gotta give me shit bruh
Try and box me out, I’m Porzingis with the tip dunks
Hit em wit a little bit of this and that
That finger in the middle of the fist of rap
Leave meals right there on the table
Turn the dream to a nightmare make em live with that, man oh no
So look me in the eyes when you talk
It’s that young Craft cat, yeah he the guy with the heart
I’d die ‘fore I let these fucks deprive you of art
I ain't tryin hit the charts man, I’m tryin hit a spark
Man I’m gone