I Ain’t a fan of foes, friends, or phones, Please don’t call me back, Nd a bag of bones, lacking tone, but told my skin don’t crack, These youngins told to go with the flow, bitch I’m too old for that, I’m Just An average Joe, Stuck in a world that hates they coffee black, Where copy cats holler facts, nd almighty dollar raps, Fuck watchu be kicking nobody listen, they just react, Was Taught that if the kitchen too hot, you dip or come crawling back, Nuts cupped with a vision, that you ain’t dipping till you ain’t wack. Be it the bic wit raps, or whatever can tickle ya fancy, Youll be in a bit of a pickle a bit, but I bet that you’ll come out it laughing, It’s all a test of time, we just gotta take it standing, So I won’t take a knee, fists stay up with them birdies handy. But I don’t mean a Stanley (What that mean doe?) A tool, To me? You got one of them, you prolly was beat up in school, Nd felt a need to tuck it, Like a truth you couldn’t stomach, Fuck it, What them thangs you keep in a locker gon really do? See I’m confused, And I bet that caught y’all f****ts attention, But why the fuck does everybody think a gats worth a mention? Bumped the lines of Jedi minds, all I could do was respect it, Cause all I did was peep the rhymes seeking different perspectives, Ain’t seen they life, and glamorized it, i felt a need to refine it, Find the message out what they said and then redefine it, Nd to me, what I gathered from the rappers that kilt, Was i ain’t gotta be a killer, I just gotta be real. imma be realer then them motherfucking Scum sucking leeches, fuck from round, you a snake? This ain’t Eden, leave then, tired of two faces, done bit the fruit, now I say bye to the fake shit. I ain’t gotta be the illest, But i gotta be ill, Nd i ain’t gotta be the realest, but i gotta be real, Nd I ain’t gotta be the fittest, but I’m fitting that bill, Nd i ain’t gotta be richest, but I keep shit a bill, Imma Be Real, Nd give a dirty mother fuck how you feel, imma be real, Nd keep my soul, run head take you that deal, Imma be real, That’s “Word b-dond” Nd that’s word to pmd, Been the polar opposite of a weak emcee, With a flow thats condiments, y’all the mystery meat, I ain’t big into politics, or parlor tricks, they one in the same, But looking at’em got me like I want no part of the game, Fuck outta my frame, you bar for the fame, you’re not in my lane, got one foot through the door, nd the other foots in a grave, You’d rather be caged, taught how to behave not be brave, trynna be hove, behold bitch you an act, where the stage? Y’all rats in a maze, I accurately aim at a tyrant, Fat cats I’m atcha neck, nd the pen the belt of Orion, Like men in black when I’m rhyming, dime a dozen to diamonds, While In the streets I ain’t wildin, but while on them beats imma lion, No SNOOP, the breed that’s breathing, but dying’s where I am, eyeing ogs, flipping for green, like my scion, I keep it low key, g chord candid the views, nd sporadic like I’m an addict that’s addicted to shrooms, Sick as the flu, go batshit, influenza wit an accent, pests up in the grass, fuck ya best, I’m running passed it, classic with the sauce, like a hot wings challenge Nd word bond, no Vuitton, keeping it Louie till my last breathe