I write pain,
I want fame,
But I'm afraid,
That I write lame,
SO I meditate,
And tame my mind,
On the thought,
That it's my time,
To shine brighter,
Than these mumble rap *****,
Or these "cowboys" in chargers,
That sing about trucks,
But I ain't catchy,
I don't do that,
I just think and write,
And try to rap,
And maybe you'll relate,
With the **** I'm tryna say,
Maybe I'll make the game,
Kick off my shoes and stay,
I hope to blow up,
Like hand grenades,
Expect me to show up,
With lyrical blades,
I am conscious,
When I speak,
And often dishonest,
Cause I tweak,
Certain bars,
To rhyme together,
Parallel bars,
OCD pleasure,
Oh, I feel better,
After I've centered,
The sentences,
And severed the letters,
To relieve the pressure,
And make it sound right,
I unlock the locked treasure,
To make the sounds tight,
I express what I express,
And I'mma do what I do,
So quit doing me,
And continue doing you.