[Verse 1 Rising un] It was all a dream I used to read WordUp Magazine Now Im smoking DMT, and weed up in my limousine My sixteens make kids sick like histamines They say the boy spitting fire Im just spitting gasoline Because i aint blown yet Til the guillotine wants my head, i aint gon sweat And when the police come i am a silhouette Quarantine my rhymes, they so ill they put dogs to the vet We far from good, Momma still payin rent We still gotta struggle in the hood, no vents On the rap game i still gotta make my indent And know i aint about malicious intent I aint gonna commit crimes, for dimes thats shit Id rather rap circles Global homies get lit Doin shows to make my dough To get my family rich Morally, financially, its time we made a switch Its the shift 2047 Im sure as Im stood here The hood Shakespeare Delusions of grandeur Got me feenin like a millionaire Holding ten bucks Drinkin malt beer Look how far your boy came in just a year... Its crazy. man... Peace Out
wordup, histamine, indent, spitting, feenin