To be the goat, ya gotta learn, to take the *******, from the magazine's throat,
Miswrote ya **** quotes, now everybody gotta pitch, in on a note,
I say **** it, *** lucked it, now I got fan mails, from the corporate,
They don't want me, to talk that real ****, instead they want me, to embrace that fake ****,
Sorry my Pops, ain't made me, to be no fool, live by the golden rules,
Others undo to you, see if they had a clue, they could peep the puzzle,
It ain't hard to solved, every day new scandals, at the job, now ya money's rob, from the publishing leasing mobs,
Dont matter if you one or top ten, the weakest get put in position,
I peep the game since when, age of ten when, I got my first stab of a pen,
Scribbles a few words, showed my family and they said word,
Boy you gotta lotta skillz, to ****, but to yaself always keep it real,
Cuz the soul will feel, always let you know when it's time to spill,
Out the truth, I'm tryna reach the souls of the youth, but they stuck to the booths,
Tooths, of many been chipped, society saying they smart, must be a slip,
Teach em *******, from classes to the pulpits, now everybody pull hits,
From synthetic weeds, with no seeds, guess that's how, the new breeds feed,
Followed the steps of jesus, praise us but, at the same time, quick to bleed us,
Trust us, they love to see us in ruckus, death the only thing, that could knock us,
But I ain't gone stop, till I reach the top, the top of the pyramid, only to fall down,
To get back up, again and again why was we born in, a world full of sins,
I count my blessing, of stressing to everyday chips, the money was guessing,
Cant trust nobody, they quick to get you lifted, like John Gotti, somebody,
Call 911 there's another ****** done, I feel kin to the fallen son, a done,
33 summers I had a few runs, thought positive more pros than cons,
They said it couldn't be done, but my will he done, baby precious pushing a lexus,
I'm in the passenger seats, with a few Grant's to Franklin's to meet,
Pass time middle fingers to crooked one time, turned up the bassline,
Hit the barber up, draw lines in my head, that look like spiritual signs,
Only the wise speak wise, gritty folks only speak jives, new ways to just hide,
From they real self, I self checked my self, gotta stay up on my health,
Juice up, no steroids dont be a busta, or get dusted, by the blazers of Dan Aykroyd,
Suckas turning paranoid, never had a check that was void, hands like Lloyd,
Every day is like may weather, a true go getter, no time for playing sitters,
To a baby, money is grown still puffin home grown, lay it out my shallow bones,
Lord forgive me, for all of my sins, and playin with the evil, spirits within,
I was just a lost soul, now that I let go, I feel the stings, of a new death blow,
