On first impression, my intention to make millions from lyricism seems far-fetched and ridiculous when you compare the competition I’ve got versus my present position. Can’t freestyle, all rhymes are written. Most emcees can write bars quicker. I seem impotent if you’ve never listened to what I deliver when I’m given sufficient time for my mind to picture rhyming scripture. I have visions, but it takes a while to bring them to fruition. Must write lyrics, combining figments of imagination with persistence. I’m brilliant, trust me, I’m insistent. But I can’t spit fire in an instant. Must do a bunch of repetitions once I’ve got my rap configured. Must condition my cognition to hop on mics and spit ammunition. To excuses, must say good riddance. Not gonna let difficulty hinder my progress, must stay diligent. I won’t accept being a quitter. Ambitions seem mega distant, but still resilient, I never give up. Not gonna back off from fulfilment. On a mission to get my skills up. Don’t need permission, made the decision to pursue this route with huge commitment. Will do this with or without assistance. Prepared to contend with resistance. My dream may seem borderline mad, but I have the foresight to see I can reach tall heights if I get my mind’s thoughts right. You may think I’m deluded or high, but I form rhymes all the time. So my odds are alright. Gonna impact like meteorites. Haters say “You’ve not got the stuff, you’re not competent, you’re not hot, you suck”. Correction, you can’t digest my direction ‘cause you toddlers haven’t got the guts to tread outside your realm of confidence. You’re jealous, yet don’t wanna put in the effort to get better and polish up yourself. That’s why you don’t blossom, bud. Those who hate will not disrupt my come up, I will pop off, erupt and get popular. You can’t stop my rush and constant buzz when I jot then bust. Abuse just fuels my accomplishments. It’s gas in the tank, I stock it up more than a monster truck or rocket does. My supply’s that high, it’s monstrous. Extrapolate based on what I’ve done, you’ll see I’m destined for prominence. Used to jot stuff but not follow up. Wasn’t confident, had noggin stuck in a despondent rut that was long and tough. Used to throwaway flames, was tossing them. Now I spout out loud. I holler them without prompts and from the top of the head. I rehearse what I conjure up until it’s ingrained in my consciousness. I’m excited for what’s to come. Gonna rise higher than monuments and acclimatise to lack of oxygen. Gonna live a life that’s prosperous. Got it pictured like photographers. Got sights on the sky like astronomers. My dream may seem borderline mad, but I have the foresight to see I can reach tall heights if I get my mind’s thoughts right. You may think I’m deluded or high, but I form rhymes all the time. So my odds are alright. Gonna impact like meteorites.