Too many mics and not enough MCs
These rappers are still babies to this game all they spit is gaga..shit driving me crazy
How many carrots will it take you see, guess them diamonds really blindin and the cats got more than they tongue,
cause those grills got they mouth on freeze…and these lames still swagg biting.
Still Evil wearing true religion, constantly being fake like any implant on Nicki.
My words boom like echos in a tunnel you can’t help but hear my message more than once
I Do Right And Kill Everything I can’t help that my Young Moneys growing up.
Fuck Pink Dollaz I’m trynna turn the whole world back green and blue.
I write fire so flame is after my stage name like Wocka,
And record labels still handing out deals like candy..Willy Wonka
But this paper is my factory, and these beats are my workers, no machinery I don’t fuck with auto-tune,
just stay tuned into what I’m providing you to read, knowledge is automatic
Be ready to get real
Like the I in Will I can’t help but maintain being ill.
Because I’m sick of this so called music, and allergic to their wanna be attempts at lyrics
These rappers are all my children, they’re so full or drama my words making em young n restless
These lames are driving me Ludacris, I had to stand up for what I believe in.
Got them thinking I’m crazy, this exactly why I need a doctor producing a beat behind this.
All these artist so dry now, I’m parched.
I need some juice man, where OJ?
And since all they worried about are groupies
These rappers needs some fits man, where the Gucci at?
I wanna bring up the underground not that Illuminati, I’m not a mason just amazing.
I ball, these New Boyz can’t play my position,
Ima Cool Kid bruh, the Pacific’s not they’re Division.
I know writing like this can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare ..
You can get real and join the circle or you can just stay a square.
Either way get real…cause every line is a step closer to my dreams.