This is my apology letter. For every cat that I’ve overshadowed since I got on the scene and starting battling average and below rappers who thought they was killing shit. The only thing they killed was my hope for a focused mc. That could vocally go toe to toe with the dopest of thee and then maybe the best out of the bunch could try and get social with me. Cuz it takes a village right? But I don’t play nice. I came from a place that bites and chews and spits and screws u out your innocence like your youth was a virgin bride. I put the scribe in prescribe, cuz I write scripts that could play out the worst times of your life. And they call my diction cryptic, I’ll bury any Tom, Dick or Harry trying Luke Perry me meaning they deal in variables, I’m trying fixate yall on me so hip hop is more bearable. But yall act like anybody coherent is a friggin rap miracle. Bruh, I been a wordsmith since I first sniffed this rap game. I’m one of the last poets, ask Abiodun, yall can hash tag it, tweet it, instagram it for the net fame. I’m on the road less traveled, and yall straddling the next lane. Trying figure out how I tick, picking through folds of my left brain. Shout out to all the dudes attacking rap from those of my gender, who now sending me love letters that I nobly return to sender. And hopefully yall get the message, only roll w day ones, no new friends unless you know my government by heart, cuz Sa-Roc is only 1 part of my indomitable foundation. Eff a throne, I’m taking over the country; Roc Nation. Throwing up my pyramids like pharoah, I’m ruling every subject and noun that I spout out my mouth. I’m Malcolm X, and I don’t trust any of them Negroes that come out your house. Cuz I’m standing out here in the field trying to get the people to feel me. I done dealt with the real shit and yall quick to spit bout the theory. Its a different world from Brooklyn to Hillman, and this the mixer, turn Dwayne Wayne to Mr. Gaines flipping beef in the Pit. It’s like this….I am a tad a bit of wizard, yap a few bars and turn an eager chap into mad, shriveled and bitter. Cuz I’m the leader of this pack, you the last pick of the litter. Im the omega and the alpha, the last and the beginning. I’m stardust amassed in a cast of human form, but I been forced to pass as your caste to be seen as halfway normal. I’m formally requesting a mass text to your besties and everyone else inside your iPhone by top of the morning. I know I’m the black sheep, they trying hide me from company. Cuz I be on my black shit, quoting Elijah and company. They never understood me, I stayed under the radar, now I trace my rise through the covers of magazines, trying to spin my complex life onto the pages of fader. If I’m not on your top five of all time then u ain’t heard me. This my calling card, the rap God at your service.
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