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[Los:] |
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I go super hard, |
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Nothing less than devoted, |
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I put knowledge in every bar, |
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Take a second and note it, |
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I know that things ain't what they seem, |
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It's like blessings is coded, |
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I knew this would be my moment for life the second I wrote it, |
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And yea I struggled every day, I got used to the hope, |
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Playing tug-of-war with the world, I was losing my rope, |
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But contrary to what haters would usually hope, |
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When you talk about me now, tell them I used to be broke, |
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Bad for your health with a raw flow, |
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Niggas can't mention rap in my presence, |
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Unless you're and elf in the North Pole, |
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You don't get that, you so unprepared, |
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Snap back flow, adjust to me being over your head, |
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Damn! I've been stronger and faster than them, |
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Put my life behind bars, that's how I mastered the pen |
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Ten, nine eight, seven six five four three, two one, |
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Motherfucker it's my time, |
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I could write it in the script and sell it, |
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This kind of story many niggas don't live to tell it, |
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I put my life in this sentence, like a convicted felon, |
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Victory is mine, climb a mountain raise my fists and yell it, |
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I wish that I could have this moment a bit longer, |
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In the midst of the moment, the moment gonn' get stronger, |
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But shit hunger, make friends switch to opponents |
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Then take the tone of a bitch on ya, |
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Keep your chrome on your hip, |
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When you boning them chicks, homie, |
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They be blowing your cut, man these hoes is a bit phony, |
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I move out like O's in the drought, |
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The day I trick on a bitch you see snow in the south, |
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Way back when I had the goals in my mouth, |
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Nigga I was pimping like Jerome in the house, |
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Thinking back to my Martin years, |
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Now the Aston Martin doors open like Martin's ears, |
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White top black shoes on the drop, |
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Martin got it looking like a skin head and some Doc Martens, |
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It all started with a dream like Doc Martin, Luther King, |
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Do your thing nigga stop talking, |
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Back when they dropped the dirt on my pops coffin, |
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Left a hard spot on my heart that will not soften, |
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I'm lost in this beautiful thing, |
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So even in my nightmares I'm still pursuing my dreams, |
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Got the shooter on the roof, clear view to king, |
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They tell me bring the crown back and make the funeral clean, |
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It's no chance for the bow, I romance with the war, |
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And these niggas too clean to slow dance with the poor, |
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Ten seconds on the clock, I take a glance at the score, |
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We down by two so I advance with the ball, |
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Too fast for your forward no need to rewind, |
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I shake him out his two shoes, I got this three on my mind, |
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Four seconds left, and it's like five niggas pressing me, |
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I need six rings like Jordan in my legacy, |
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Seven niggas on the bench watching me in slow mo, |
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I ate (8) the press up too easy, no homo, |
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Straight down the middle to the top of the line, |
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And pulled that motherfucker back like I was cocking a nine, |
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And let it fly they thinking 'Los did it again', |
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Damn ya'll niggas need heart, I'm the wizard you tin (10) man, |
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It take ten men to get the heart of this one man, |
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Cause no ten men would go as hard as this one man, |
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Damn, who would've thought that I was this thorough, |
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Put a ribbon on the moon I get five of this world, nigga! |
