It’s February 28, 2017
I’m in the Mint Rooms
Glendale, California
Working on Good vs. Evil Part 2
Some old shit came up man…
Had me feeling kinda nostalgic…

I blended Malcom and Martin’s names together for my motivation
That’s King with a X, homie no relation
I’m cutting niggas loose like the officers do when they find the hogtied victims after home invasions
I never let you tell me all I am
Kidnap the game give the federalli’s my demand
See I shed so many tears now it’s Me Against The World
Cause some of my niggas fake as Makavelli’s hologram
So we faced with a conundrum
Like um, where’s that different cloth niggas talk about being cut from?
Wasn’t so they was cutting sewn [?] faux fur by the lump sum
I was descended of everything you pretended to be
Indefinitely my pedigree is genetically embedded in my code You can never been an image of me
You spit pathetically, I spit prophetically
Let it be known I predicted the very way the ending would be
You jealous of the real nigga in me
Incredibly soon as niggas put they pen to the beat
They definitively dinner to me, a killer MC, I better be
I grew up in the motherfucking the dumpster
When niggas try to rob you
You broke and they get pissed off and jumped you
Nigga you would have to go to Skid Row to really know my hunger
Judge me motherfucker
You don’t want to walk in my shoes
Lost and confused, talking to booze
Problems so I thought I would choose
A bottle just for solving my blues
It all was a ruse
The amount of alcohol I abused
Was like sipping with your straw in the pool
Couldn’t follow the rules
Til I put together all of the clues
I’m reading more just to polish my jewels
Sharpened my views that’s positive news
I’m rapping more maybe all of muse
Maybe all in a [?]
When I speak the real gospel it moves
The audience more than all of them dudes
I paid my entire wallet in dues
No volatile fuse, now I Dalai Lama you fools
Ima standstill, reduce a mountain to an anthill
Rocking them all grey Grant Hills
At seventeen I’m dropping [?]
This whole year is getting wrapped up
Like I’m Uncle Murda mixed with Mad Skillz
Still niggas don’t rap enough
Whole marketing plan is to be on Instagram live acting up
Snapchat acting tough
Either that a rat known Vlad and it’s adding up
Cause fans ain’t had enough
Just because a couple real MCs could go gold
That don’t mean corporate america ain’t got the culture in a chokehold
These niggas still selling they souls, these niggas hoes
Ain’t bros before hoes? The bro code
We ain’t bros
As soon as you need to get hot you calling one of these hoes
Woah
I’m still in the game, I’m still in my lane
Hundred diamonds still in the chain
I don’t even wear it cause I ain’t feeling the same vibe when lyricists used to come outside to play
Y’all niggas is lame
I’m still bar raising and I’m still a messiah of a dying art
You are the still star gazing
Still pulling strings like a [?] playing a giant harp
Cigar blazing, lion heart, all praises
They love it when the God flow make moves
If they don’t tell you I’m the best then it’s fake news
Whether you black is Kevin Hart or whiter than bright Bart
I’m the illest hands down, so I can’t lose…
Illest hands down, so I can’t lose