I write what’s in my heart, don’t give a fuck who fuckin‘ with it
But in a sense I can relate, the need to be great
Turns into an obsession and keeps a nigga up late
Writin‘ words, hopin‘ people observe the dedication
That stirs in you constantly, but intentions get blurred
Do I do it for the love of the music or is there more to me?
Do I want these niggas to worship me?
False prophets

(…)

They talk about being a man so much
I finally understand that they ain’t even sure
‚Bout who they are and why they do this
Guess I’m included in that category as a nigga who done had the glory
My highest moments come from tellin‘ all the saddest stories
I’ve seen in my life, I be fiendin‘ to write
Songs that raise the hair on my arms
My lowest moments came from tryin‘ too hard
To impress some niggas that couldn’t care if I’m on
Therefore from here on out, my hair grow out
I care nothin‘ ‚bout opinions
I wanna give hope like the fountains you throw pennies in
Hit the store, take your diss, make your wish
This is dedicated to the ones that listen to me on some faithful shit
I’m on some thankful shit
But the real God is in you, not the music you coppin‘
I hear my old shit and know I can top it
False prophets