Ninth grade, thirteen, I ride my bicycle to school
Headphones ******* up my hearing. Mr. Fiasco's The Cool
Irony I couldn't kick push, because I'd probably fall
And if I crack my head open i'd have no one to call
My mama works two jobs, pops works out of state
Band practice after school, my house'll be empty till late
So my backpack packed with textbooks, a gameboy, and some sheet music
Three broken pencils, it's heavy i'm used to it
I wasn't **** back then
truly not much has changed
I went to Samuel from sam
acceptance of myself in my name
Acceptance of my mistakes, and the release of the shame
And realized when you a genius they label you lame