/I pluck peace of mind from a piece of rhyme/ That flows free with time, one the streets have signed/ With smiles and cries, alibis and lies/ Thru the peoples eyes in our donned disguise/ Some stunt like Knievel, encountering the d’evils/ I try to hook em in like the spoon and the needle/ Keep my blind faith like the priest in cathedrals/rap my blank canvas which I color from the easel/ Serenade H.E.R., even though I’m common/ With one love thru one mic to prove to I got her/ Make some Kool G’s on my road to riches/ And fuck shining with stars, I’d rather eclipse them/Things done changed, we’re too big for our britches/ This thing is way more than just money and bitches/ Dancin' with the devil, but lost the technique/ Can’t be Immortal just letting the tech speak/ I’ll break em off bars easier than Nestle/ Accordingly, I hope with Mister Herc’s blessing/ Paid dues to keep out behind the eight ball/ With Carolina On My Mind sorta like Ray Charles/ I spit razors to scar faces / Born microphone killer with amazing graces/ The premier guru flow above the clouds/ Jack be rippin', so how ya like me now?/ Put it in the air if it means a lil’ fame/ And send out a slug, if they play the blame game/ I’m a Clemson Tiger, they’re too timid to tame/ Scared as if Skillz was to drop their name/


/I shatter dreams and bring capital punishment/ No pun and I don’t think that you could stomach it/ If I pimp the pen then your hope’s plummeting/ In this jungle, don’t wonder, you’ll go under/ Get chopped and screwed like a tape by Robert Davis/ Or buggin' like a spray of some of that orange agent/ A young prodigy that wreaks havoc and hell/ A ghost faced killah spittin'’ some fish scale/ Sippin' sum yak, blowin' swisha’s and doulja/ Microphone fiend, but never lose my composure/ But I’m the dude, just tryin’ to live/ If death is certain, then I’m gonna shit/ On wack emcees with a ten percent diss/ And give these fucks the Jada kiss/ Got styles like Sheek and I picked the locks/ But I’ll damned if I don’t do it like Crock/ Essential to rap like the word cocaine/ But they keep wantin' Proof like Kurt Cobain/ Sit back and chill, pop pills on Sugar Hill/ Thinking bout how the sunset I’ll kill/They see the game and then they’ll try to play/ And when you fail, feel free to fly away/ Cause ain’t no rapper, rugged as this/ And every record label today sucks dick/