Lyrics

Hard tracks with no n-word or gun talk? You're not Black or just censor the fun parts Do not laugh - I'm a mensch worth a hun spot Times ten k. Sense 8 - I feel your thoughts: "rappers should get on, get wreck, get gone" - Instead it's Orphan Black in TO - just some prissy clones Informal stats reveal y'schtick of "rich" be wrong Hurry up and get on that Kick Starter kick to get Your bones right like Chiro'. Money won't decide yo' Worth, but I work, so what the fuck do I know? Tryin' to make a jam that'll shake up your spinal Instead I write a rap about comic books and phyllo Pastry. Hate me? That's a world that I don't Really know 'cause I don't go on YouTube to find your Racist comments to read Check your chi, Chuck E Cheese I'm not a player, I just eat Don't like the flavour of mesquite, then why you grillin'? Rappers play the villain - like children, use anger to hide their feelings. Unwilling To let the skill speak for itself, ditch the homophobia Obia from Guyana raise the shit up like Sokovia! Use words for nerds, and herbs suffer Along wit' my career But clear, I'm no sucka If you appreciate my pain, "whattup!" 'Cause I know what I say is not everyone's cuppa It's plain my lane is not what the Kids would call "gangsta". Thanks to my mother But if you like my shit, then I love ya' 'cause I know what I make is not everyone's cuppa I'm different. Yeah, I'm different - I don't jock trends or do coke. The inference: Rap's a marathon, a bunch a y'all just wind sprint On tracks - you running hard, but I don't spot the shin splints - Just fables. No cradles - I don't rock for infants Can't this be fun and not be simplistic? It's complicated. Like GPS, rappers plot the safest root To get loot, the truth's that they're not Bill Gates wit' this Rap shit. Just plastic. My Voltron's die cast Metal with the missiles spring loaded that fly fast Settled on a weapon: this vocal. Dissed locals - oops! I Mean, I used to get dissed by locals who tried rap For three years, then quit. Guess they got their dick wet Enough to give up. Live up to my own expectations is this set Of mind. Like poopin' Mickie Dees, yo, my shit gets Refined. Job title is "emcee" - hustlas just don't apply! Use words for nerds, and herbs suffer Along wit' my career But clear, I'm no sucka If you appreciate my pain, "whattup!" 'Cause I know what I say is not everyone's cuppa It's plain my lane is not what the Kids would call "gangsta". Thanks to my mother But if you like my shit, then I love ya' 'cause I know what I make is not everyone's cuppa