I got a homie, he a rapper and he wanna win bad
He want the fame, the acclaim, the respect that's been had
By all the legends, so every time I see him, he stressin'
Talkin' 'bout, nikkas don't fukk with him, this shyt is depressin'
And I know he so bitter he can't see his own blessings
Goddamn, nikka, you too blind to see you got fans, nikka
And a platform to make a classic rap song
To change a nikka's life, but you too anxious livin' life
Always worried 'bout the critics who ain't ever fukkin' did it
I write what's in my heart, don't give a fukk who fukkin' with it
But in a sense I can relate, the need to be great
Turns into an obsession and keeps a nikka 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 nikkas to worship me?
False prophets