Death Of The Cool...


One man crew sinking fleets with the penmanship
Crafting the game, I spend my time until I'm pennyless
Trained on being famed, Known solely for my cleverness
So everyone whose with me raise your hands, you gon remember this.
Young Fiend Finna breath flames until my last breath
Liven up the forest city, lighten with my progress
Striking women vicious, whether valley or the projects
Gifted to the point where not a lyrics outta context
Spitting with these lames just practice, no contest
Lay em all to rest, leave em rottin, just a carcess
Buzz attract them all from the vultures to the starlets
Sure to leave amazed, flow smooth this shit is polished
Visions of the stage constant coarsing through my brain,
Like a crane I'm fit to lift this game to higher plane,
Devine like God's meant me to ressurect the game,
My kingdom's come, this holy blood runnin through my veins.
Tearin down an era, we the new construct,
Bring about a change, we the new concept,
See the path raised, we be true flawless,
Crink the crooked step, but we livin life honest.
Wastin' toughened critics
Made fans of thickened cynics
When I fold them oragami like a stapling clinic
Got droves of closet groupies all trying to mimic
the sound coming out my mouth from the very beginning.



Mindstate of a nigga grown defeated
Sons of Villains born sinners with shadows dark as Jesus
Work the corner cold, squeezing life outta breathing
Souls rigid sinkin slow, movin rock they turnin demons,
Youngins finna blow, spilling blood without a reason
If a crooked nigga snitch, shit it might as well be treason
Fiends, pricing his head, but a mother's son's priceless
Feeding Satan death, because he swallows whole rightous
Birthing children deaf so the gats don't even frighten
Rascits nigga slayers run this nation in a crisis.
Holes in whole hearts, man we livin lifeless,
Pressed with sex and drugs like the age lines'll blind us,
Even if the pains real the masks are what define us,
Pushed back, to slang yak, but nevermind us.
Picture of the struggle shits acrylic, world's oil based
Niggas like suburbs on the street corners all-ways
People living chalk lines, the worlds just a cold case
Find it hard to breathe, wen our lots ain't got no space.
Looking to the future, tryna steal a couple weeks,
We ain't think bout the law, when our children tryna eat,
Women raped and murdered,
While half of us are still asleep
And I'm Changin up the channel thanking God it wasn't me

Thank God it wasn't me...