[Verse 1]
Rest in peace, J. Dilla
You can see the demons in my mind livin deep up in my eyes
Once upon a time, I believed in all the lies
Now it seems like the only truth is that it’s possible
Though lately my obstacles becomin like fossil fuels
Breakin down my o-zone, so homie stay in yo zone
Unless you want this ring in your ear, then quiet your tone
It’s gettin hot, just know I get a lot and don’t forget a lot
So I gotta get for moms for what I get get me shot
Cause tryna throw stones, that’ll get you rocked
Tryna fight time’ll get you clocked
Tryna climb to the top and jump tryna fly will just get you dropped
You only whole when you bubblin and then you pop
Tryna take a shot of the bigger picture get you cropped
So I been tryna paint it with words
When I give food for thought, I take seconds and thirds
Put a stethoscope to my chest and only questions I heard
Only questions I heard, only questions
So many questions

[Verse 2]
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that these bars got me stuck in limbo
Been doin all this waitin, but I could use a tip though
I’m anxious, impatient, but I ain't throwin fits tho
I’ve taken some shots but always been the type to sip slow
That’s how I get my groove on, so it might take a while to get em under my influence though I’m tryna get a move on
Bet they thinkin “Move on, this rappin shit was cute but we ain’t tryin hear those new songs if we can’t turn the tube on and see you on, then we’ll know that you on, it’s on you, the time for excuses is too gone”
I feel em I suppose, but the real ones hear the lyrics and the flows and the prose and see how clearly I have grown
Cause sometimes dude playin violin in the subway is world class but you ain't stop to listen til one day you seen him on the front page, but he ain't fit the mold when you was tryna catch the 1 train, you just thought he played for chump change
So stand clear of the closin doors, when you do they open more
I know you ain't tryin miss a stop, get your fourth chance
My ambition got the chicken pox and half these rappers actin so why they won’t give me props?
Think they big cause their shit spins a lot, but they micro and soft, that’s my word, get the doc
My shit the illest, flows that can’t be vaccinated
Rappers get emasculated, my style like ejaculation
I bust and spray all these seeds of the truth
Then come a bunch of sons who use me as their roots
But see, this type of mind don’t grow on trees
And I’d tell you walk in my shoes but you can’t throw on these cause my soles old
They been molded and battered by all the steps that I’ve taken to make a break in these patterns and now they, now they fit me so perfect
And I’m a long way from home but it’s so worth it