HOW IT IS

**(Verse 1)** Woke up cold, stove top holdin' last night's dreams, Asphalt whispers where the streetlights don't gleam. Palm full of calluses, heart full of scars, They want the truth? Here—hold these broken parts. **(Verse 2)** Momma’s tears dry quicker than the ink on my plea deal, Probation papers crumble like the crackers in my cereal. They say "rise above"—man, I’m diggin’ from below, Six feet deep in promises, still seeds won’t grow. **(Verse 3)** Corner store prophets preachin’ ’bout a way out, Till the sirens come choirin’, drownin’ out the devout. Handcuff gospel, the pulpit’s a squad car, Salvation’s a bail bondsman chargin’ by the hour. **(Verse 4)** Dreams deferred? Nah, they repossessed, Took the wheels off my ambition, left the rest. Now I’m pushin’ metaphors uphill in the rain, While the system’s got its boot print on my brain. **(Verse 5)** They paint us violent, then sell the canvas back, Blood in the brushstrokes, but they frame it as abstract. Gallery walls built from our fractured bones, Rich folks clink glasses over our hollow moans. **(Verse 6)** The pawn shop crucifix ain’t redeem a soul, Just collateral damage when the rent takes its toll. Bible thick with dust, but the glock’s well-read, Turn the other cheek? Man, that side’s already bled. **(Verse 7)** School of hard knocks? Nah, it’s a PhD in pain, Thesis titled: *How to Lose When the Game’s Rigged the Same*. They told me "write your future"—ink ran red, Penmanship shaky from the bullets overhead. **(Verse 8)** Love letters to the block come returned to sender, Address unknown like the kids they tore from mothers. We ain’t statistics—we’re the footnotes they ignore, While the editorial board cheers for the war. **(Verse 9)** The mirror’s a funhouse when the reflection’s broke, Stomach growlin’ louder than the lies they spoke. Welfare cheese yellow as the tape on the scene, Another hashtag where the dream used to be. **(Verse 10)** They ask why we angry—man, peek behind the curtain, The American dream? It died of certain. Now we march to a beat nobody else hears, Drumline of heartbeats, metronome of fears. **(Verse 11)** So when I spit this truth, it ain’t for applause, It’s the last fuck you ’fore they nail down the cause. Either listen close or step out the way, ’Cause how it is—is how it’s gon’ stay.