[Geno]

This aint rap no more, its a ball nd a chain
Its my cross to bear, and i carry it for all of your sakes
This is edgar allan poe, his crow, the cat clawing away
Alchoholism, getting sobre, and then falling from grace
Its netcees.com, david llama applauding its grave
Its dot co, the ressurection, and what you call it today
Its God of War, Metts and ecoNamix all getting paid
A junkyard of rusty vets, a hall of fame market to blame
Its hush not giving a fuck, nika, bags, all of the greats
Pics, battle raps nd open mics, we're all part of the paint
I harbor your pain hardest, my flatline is one artist away
Recalling an age where dial up failure kept ur hardest at bay
Booted nd ud lose it, ur 16 lines of music wasnt thru being saved
When the bran nubian days were still brand new to you lames
What canibus could do to a tape, big words overused in debate
Trying to sound inteligent was as stupid then as it is doing today
When getting called out meant war, nd u swore u wudnt sway
Those were the days true writers had a league of their own
When a wet fucking writer had flow, nd not an ego to stroke
When the machine was well oiled, now the diesel is low
Nd were all the same people, blaming a new breed cause its broke
Idk, im reminiscing, what you been readings a joke
I dont feel like writing now, ill just leave it alone..