No human can actually know what truth is
Because truth has too many dimensions
mixed with different perceptions
and people's interpretation
No human can see the truth in its true form

they go all about dark lyrics/they fantasies roll round spark hot chicks
every line they spit spells death/lost in words,forgive em its only their time of birth
they still new to this/they should be worrying about their first kiss

Rap is truly poetry in motion
With a beat
Hip Hop can move a writer’s pen to pad
Emotions to words
Music, the lubrication to an artist’s ear
It’s motivation
Motivating the writer to be better
Rap is poetry
And Poetry is my life.

I bring hit after hit like a boxer
You haters' inconsistent
Everybody's on the same vibe
Mine's kinda' different
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Verse hot, hook hot--
I'm gon' sellout soon as I drop
Minor in poetry, fine-arts major
Doctor goon on deck, call this a fear-factor
I'm going in, but I ain't got no curfew
I son a lot of you, it's like I birth you
Got a lot of verses, but this ain't a Bible
Fallout when you hear this, I ain't liable
Ain't talking 'bout tearing, but the beats R.I.P
Didn't sell a lot of tracks, but I got D.O.E
Put you up on game, my hustle's M.O.E
Music over everything, ain't moving 'D'
I got cash like the bank, I sell CD's
Smells funny, tickled my nose, I might sneeze
You would think I'm water, the way I flow
I'm just like some dynamite, bound to blow
Act like you're in a recliner, lay back
If I ain't on fire, then why they say that?
Feature, feature, can I get a feature
So far ahead I sit on competition--bleacher
My Raps' like a bunch of apartment buildings, complex
Got chicks on my ****', ain't talking 'bout ***
I'm so different, it's magnificent
Haters want me to fall, but that's not how the script went
Thing's fishy, I ain't gettin' caught in that net
Just killed the beat, without breaking a sweat

We write*

Not for your pleasure,
Your entertainment
Or anyone's attention
We're here writing
Trying to reach something
Left unsaid
Inside of us
Something we find
For a moment
When we feel satisfied
With something
Some
Words that we have
Thrown together
In random order
Some abstraction
We disguise it
Decorate it  
But it's all there
Right in-between the lines

Why do we write?*
Hell, I don't think we know either