Some may say that I'm lyin, but the music is dyin,
And I want to bring it back so I have to keep tryin
Until it comes back to life then my words'll keep cryin
Songs are supposed to expose the soul, where'd that all go?
It seems like all you care about is money, hoes, and clothes, but why are you writing? That's all a playa wants to know
Mo money mo problems, your lyrics speak volumes
How your priorities are whack, that's a matter of fact
When you see your reflection in the mirror, can you really handle that?
You say look at all these things I'm buyin
I say look at all these kids who keep dyin
And you got what they need, so why you gotta show your greed?
You could've helped a family maintain
If you didn't buy that new gold chain
Do you know how you would feel if you saw the eyes of those in pain?
Don't you know society breeds jealousy, especially, when I admire the wealthy, then my ambition's unhealthy, and the second that I make then nobody can help me
And I've become what I've despised
A recurring cycle towards demise